


Queen of Hearts

by Raindropsonwhiskers



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Fluff, Fobwatched Doctor (Doctor Who), Kissing, Memory Alteration, Other, Romance, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Unhealthy Relationships, the Doctor has two hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27842335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raindropsonwhiskers/pseuds/Raindropsonwhiskers
Summary: Theta Wright is an unmarried woman in London during the worst war the world has ever seen; her life is far from easy. When she sees something myserious and tries to investigate, it starts her down the path towards a whirlwind of events that leads her to places and people she'd never dreamed of - or rather, to the very ones that haunt her nightmares.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/Original Female Character(s), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 29





	Queen of Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Behold, the longest and most well-planned oneshot I've ever written! This fic is the product of my first NaNoWriMo, and I'm proud to say that I managed to finish it in the 30 days. Enjoy!

Theta hums while she works. Some might call it morbid, such a cheerful tune filling the air while she works on machines meant to deliver death, but these days most would call it keeping her sanity. It's not any particular song, really, but occupies Theta as she checks over the aircraft, ensuring that each rivet and welding job is secure enough to withstand use. Repetitive, methodical work, leaving her mind to wander, as it so often does. Never enough that she's missed anything yet, but enough to imagine all sorts of fanciful things.

Her favorite daydream is of stealing one of the planes and seeing the world, but she knows that's impossible. Not only does she not know how to fly such a craft, but the current state of the world hardly makes it fit for sightseeing. Not with a war happening.

Still, it's a pleasant thing to imagine. The whole Earth spread out beneath her like in a map, and she's free to go wherever she wants. Not for money, not for war, but just to learn about other places, just to see the sights and breathe in new air. If she could, she'd even fly the plane up into the stars, take in the blanket of the night sky up close.

Instead of any of that, though, Theta's feet are planted solidly on the ground as she does one final lap around the plane to check for any defects she may have missed. She's not the only barrier between an incorrectly built plane and the aviators that fly them, but these days there's hardly time to give each one more than a cursory once-over before they're sent into action. So, Theta double- and triple-checks before allowing the plane to be moved to the storage hangar.

After the plane is wheeled out of the inspection chamber, Theta checks the clock on the wall. Only three minutes until her shift is done and she goes home for the night, so there won't be another plane sent in for her to inspect. For lack of anything else to do, she begins to pack up the few belongings she brings with her. A bag for her lunch, a wool coat to ward off the evening chill, and a metal canteen of water, now empty.

In order to leave, she has to go through the main factory floor, which isn't nearly as much of an inconvenience as it could be. Theta tries to stay on friendly terms with the people who work the floor, but Elsie and Henry are probably the closest thing she would consider to friends. Henry is a good man, just working to support his family, but Elsie is something of a mystery; she's hardly in need of the money, and with three children, her regular hours at the factory are unusual. Still, Theta is grateful for her presence.

"Leaving before the shift is over, Theta?" Elsie teases. "Something more important going on?"

Theta laughs. "Nah, just finished early. Figured I might as well head out."

"Better not have missed something, Wright," Henry says, raising his voice to be heard over the clatter of metal. "One more and you're out!"

With a roll of her eyes, Theta keeps walking. Not a single one of the planes she's inspected has gone down from a confirmed mechanical error yet — she checks the records — and she intends to keep it that way. They just enjoy messing with her.

Then she's out in the cool evening air, and glad for the forethought of bringing a coat. It's only late October, but the uniform she wears doesn't do much against the cold. She shrugs it over her shoulders, and starts walking down the street towards the station for the Underground. Her flat is just far enough from the factory that walking would just be impractical, and though she isn't fond of the crowded confines of the trains, they're the most efficient way to travel.

Theta finds herself humming again as she walks, the same tune as when she had been working. She can't help but feel like there ought to be lyrics to go with it, but they're gone from her mind when she tries to find them. Lyrics or no, she rather likes the melody. It's simple, but not boring.

As she rounds a corner, her eye catches on a flash of light in an alleyway. Curious, Theta turns to look, though she braces herself to run in case it's a robber. The alley looks empty apart from the strangely bright light - oddly so, for London. Not even old newspapers or garbage clutter the cobbles.

Naturally, Theta moves closer to investigate, her hand gripping her canteen tightly. It's hardly the most practical weapon, but she imagines that she could stun an attacker with it if she had to. She creeps down the alley, footfalls soft and slow, towards the light.

The path turns sharply to the left, snaking behind the towering building that faces the street, and Theta sees the light disappear behind the bend as she gets closer. She can still see the reflection of the white glow shining off of the stone of the surrounding buildings, damp from the recent rainfall. Curiosity overtakes her, and she begins to run after the light, determined not to lose it. Rounding the corner, she prepares to tear off after the source of the luminescence, whatever it may be.

Only to collide, forehead-first, with another person who seems to have had the same idea from the opposite direction. Theta stumbles backwards, blinking stars out of her eyes, and fumbles for her canteen to fend off the man across from her.

Honestly, he doesn't look too threatening. He seems about as stunned as she is, leaning one hand heavily against the wall and dragging the other down his face. His… rather attractive, oddly familiar face, now that she's looking. Theta shakes her head to get rid of the thought, and immediately regrets it as it sends a pang of hurt through her skull.

"What is wrong with you?" she demands, brandishing the metal bottle like a weapon. "Who goes running around alleyways without looking where they're going?"

"Excuse me?" The man sounds somewhat baffled, and more than a bit annoyed.

"I don't think I will, thanks," Theta says, cutting off any further words he might have tried. "I was investigating something very suspicious, and now you've scared it off!"

The man mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "stupid human", which Theta rather takes offense at, and huffs a resigned sigh. His deep brown eyes meet hers, and she finds herself unable to look away, trapped and enamoured all at once.

"You're going to leave this alley the way you came," he says, voice resonating like a bell, "and forget that this ever happened. Understood?"

Most of Theta is inclined to listen and just sink into the deep, soothing undertones of his voice. It would be easy, to let her memories go loose and fuzzy, to turn around and forget all about this. But Theta's never been one to do things the easy way.

"No, I _don't_ understand," she snaps. "What were you doing here? Were you chasing that light too? Do you know what it is?"   
  


"It's something that's none of your concern," he insists. "Now _go away._ "

Again, his voice rings through her, urging her to listen. It's like he's reaching into her brain, pulling at all the bits that will make her comply. Theta glares and stands her ground.

"How're you doing that with your voice?" she demands. "What's going on?"  
  


The man clenches his jaw, and one hand flits to the pocket of his well-fitted violet jacket. It's an odd color for a suit, thinks Theta, but it works well for him, and- she's getting distracted again. He's probably reaching for a weapon, and she can't stop thinking about how familiar he looks. That should bother her more than it does.

"You're looking into things more complicated than you can imagine," he says, an edge of steel to his tone. "And if you keep looking, you'll end up dead. I would have no problem helping that along. If you want to keep on living your silly little life, I would suggest turning around and leaving, before I snuff it out. Now do you understand?"

Theta starts to say something more, and then stops. Whoever this man is, she doesn't doubt that he's serious. As much as she wants to know what's going on… this isn't worth dying for. She has planes to check over, and a train to catch, and she'd rather not die in an alleyway because she was too foolish to listen to a very clearly worded threat.

With one final glare levelled at those pretty brown eyes, she turns on her heel and leaves.

  
  


The watch shop on Oxford Street is a pleasant enough place to live above. The owner, one Ernest Winstead, is a polite older man, with a wife and a grown son who help run the business, and doesn't particularly seem to mind renting the third floor of the building to an unmarried woman so long as Theta pays him on time.

Though the flat is small, she hardly needs more space than what it offers; she has a bedroom, kitchen, washroom, and a nice enough dining room, though she never has company over to use it. There's even electrical lighting — useful for the late hours Winstead keeps when working on custom pieces.

As she steps into the shop, intent on heading up the stairs to her flat, Theta gives an absentminded greeting to the son as he tries to sell a pocket watch to a customer. It's perhaps more impersonal than usual, but her thoughts are still thoroughly occupied by the strange man from before, and more importantly, by the light the both of them had apparently been pursuing.

What could it possibly have been, that it was worth potentially killing for? What dangerous truth lay beneath the mystery?

Theta knows it's unwise to continue poking around after a threat to her life, but she can't shake the image of the light ablaze in an empty alleyway from her head. There's something more going on there, she just knows it. Something dangerous, more than likely. Perhaps she could leave early tomorrow morning and investigate before work… 

She tucks the idea away as she opens the door to her flat. It's chilly enough inside that she keeps her coat on, at least until she can start a fire. Though the flat has a radiator, it's currently non-functional; she had dismantled it over the weekend to fix the annoying creaking sound it had been making, and hasn't yet put it back together. In the meantime, the fireplace works just as well.

And, Theta muses as she lights some kindling, it can heat up her dinner as well, without needing to bother with the stove. She'd gone through the effort of cooking a chicken several days ago, to use for sandwich meat and easy dinners, and she's fairly sure there's still enough for another meal in the icebox.

Shrugging her coat off as the heat of the fire begins to suffuse the room, Theta leaves it somewhat carelessly over the back of a chair that has become, more often than not, the usual resting place for the thing between uses. She doesn't own a coat rack, and doesn't really see the point in getting one when she only owns the one coat. And, when the sturdy grey wool begins to fail, she'll simply buy another one just like it.

A quick check of the icebox confirms that there's enough chicken left over for the night, as well as some canned green beans, but Theta isn't quite hungry enough yet to pull it out. Instead, she sits down in front of the hearth, pulling a basket of mechanical parts close to her. It's an odd hobby, she knows, but it keeps her hands and mind busy.

In an ideal world, of course, she would have a workspace the size of the whole flat to use. But her job doesn't pay nearly well enough to afford that sort of indulgence, and she makes do with what she has — a large room without much other purpose.

With her previous project of a radio completed and sitting on the dinner table, she isn't quite sure what to make next. Ideally, it would be something that could help her with tracking down the source of that strangely entrancing light, but she can't figure out where she would even start with such a contraption. A way to read energy signals and analyze them, perhaps, but that would require far more convoluted machinery than she could reasonably transport. Theta sighs, and resigns herself to making some functionless knickknack until she comes up with something better.

  
  


After wasting an hour or so creating a small wind-up toy — the sort that she sometimes sees in the shop for the rare occasions that customers bring their children — Theta finally gets up to eat dinner. She sits at the table more from habit than any sense of propriety, and idly fiddles with the radio, turning it on to flip through the handful of channels as she eats.

Eventually, she stops on a program that catches her ear. Some sort of audio drama, though she's clearly tuned in partway through. The main character seems to be just as confused about what's going on as Theta is, which is a small comfort. Though the plot seems convoluted from the bits of it she picks up as she listens, it's rather good. There's aliens, time travel, and all sorts of fascinating nonsense that, for some reason, intrigues her. She makes a mental note to eat dinner earlier tomorrow; hopefully, there's a recap at the start of the next installment.

By the time she finishes, it's dark enough out for staying up late to be impractical. Though the slowly dying fire lights up her dining room, and she _could_ turn on a light to continue working on one of her projects, Theta wants to wake early to see if any signs of the strange light remain in the alleyway. So, she turns the radio off, makes quick work of washing her dishes, and closes the grate in front of the fireplace to make sure none of the flickering embers spit and catch the whole place on fire. Then, finally, she settles into bed for the night.

Theta's never been the most restful sleeper. Her nights are plagued with strange dreams of places she's never seen, things she's never done, and the most bizarre creatures. Men with tentacles where their faces should be, contraptions of metal and hatred, moving statues with weeping eyes and snarling mouths, and so many more. If she could remember the details when she woke, she would draw them, but every attempt to put pencil to paper never quite captures the dream-beasts properly.

Some nights, when the sunset is too orange, or the moonlight glances silver off the leaves of the trees, she dreams of red grass and towering spires. A city so fantastic, and yet so familiar, that she's spent entire nights wandering the ordered streets. Most nights, it stays like that; the city intact, the orange sky and bright suns unclouded, the metallic trees shimmering like quicksilver. Others, she watches, helpless, as it crumbles to the ground. Buildings left in ruins, smoke choking the sky, trees barren and dead, and always, always the screams of children filling the air.

She hates those dreams. They leave her unsettled and exhausted when she wakes, and her thoughts wander more in the day that follows. Unfortunately, tonight is one night when she dreams of such things.

The red grass tickles at her legs as she runs and runs, laughing and turning occasionally to see if the person behind her is keeping up. He always is, only a few steps behind her and laughing just as hard. Finally, she stops, breathless, at the edge of a copse of trees, and collapses into the grass. Moments later, he joins her, both of them flat on their backs and sprawling out on the dirt.

He takes her hand, and she rolls over to kiss him, and the sunlit afternoon goes up in smoke. He slips away from her touch, from the clasp of their hands, from the press of her lips, and she's falling into darkness.

Theta wakes up gasping and shivering, her heart racing like it's about to burst. At some point in the middle of the night, she must have kicked off her blankets, because her bed is bare and she's _freezing._ After her heart slows enough that she no longer feels on the verge of death, Theta sighs and forces herself out of bed to retrieve the fallen blankets, though she doesn't bother getting back in bed. There's really no point; once she's awake, chances of falling back asleep are slim.

"When I said I wanted to wake up early," she grumbles to the empty room, "I didn't mean like this."

Still reluctant, she lights a candle from her bedside and checks the clock on her wall. It seems to be in the latter half of four o'clock, though she's still too bleary-eyed to bother determining the exact minute. Far earlier than she needs to be awake, though not as early as some nightmares have woken her before; at least she'd fallen asleep early.

Candle in hand, Theta makes her way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. She rarely makes anything more elaborate than toast, most mornings, and this one is no different. After lighting the gas lamp and turning on the stove, she cuts two slices of bread off the dwindling loaf — she _really_ needs to go shopping soon — and skewers them through with a toasting fork. Maybe that should be her next project, she thinks; one of those electronic toasters that she's seen ads for in the newspapers. It can't be too hard to make one, after all.

When the bread is done, she spreads it with butter and leans against the counter to eat it, not even getting a plate. No point in using extra dishware when she has perfectly good hands.

As she eats, staring absently out, Theta finds herself thinking about the man from the alleyway again. He'd been so familiar, and yet she can't think of anywhere she might have seen him before. So why, then, does his face stick in her mind like that of an old friend? Why does she want to see him again, when he'd threatened her life?

Theta finishes her toast and begins making her lunch for later, though her mind is still wandering.

Perhaps it's foolish, but she can't help but feel like she knew the man. There's a name on the very tip of her tongue — several names, and titles, and none of them clear enough for her to properly recall. Like the words to that song she'd been humming the day before, they're simply not there when she reaches for them. It's not an uncommon thing, for her; she often feels that there's something just beyond her reach that she's missing. Some important piece to a puzzle that her brain has lost in the cracks of the floorboards, never to be seen again. Usually, it doesn't bother her, but now… 

She shakes her head. Either the thought will come to her or it won't, but turning it over in her mind will only make it fuzzier at the edges. By her count, it's been nearly forty-five minutes, and she should be getting ready to leave if she wants any time to investigate the alleyway. Her thoughts of the strange man can wait.

  
  


Theta takes the train along her usual route, if half an hour earlier than normal, and begins searching for the right alley. It had been just around the corner from the factory, right between a monolithic office complex and another building that hasn't been occupied for nearly three months. She finds it easily — it's precisely where she thought it was, and just as strangely clean as before.

Carefully, even more cautious than she had been the day before, Theta steps into the alleyway. She searches every nook and cranny, every divot in the cobblestones that breaks the pattern, every strange mark in the building walls; but in the end, she finds nothing out of the ordinary. Whatever that light had been, whatever had been producing it, it had left no trace behind when it disappeared.

Emptyhanded — metaphorically, at least — and somewhat annoyed, she leaves the alleyway and heads to the factory. Honestly, she doesn't know why she's suddenly obsessed with the light. It might have just been a strange reflection off of the stone, or some mean-spirited trick played by a bunch of schoolchildren. There's no reason to be so interested in it.

Except that man had been chasing it too, and he'd told her to stay away, _threatened_ her. And Theta's always been curious, but she's never been very good at listening.

  
  


As she crosses the factory floor, already busy with the sounds of work, Theta stops to greet Elsie. It's a part of her routine, now, but beside all that, she enjoys talking to the woman.

"Good morning, Theta," Elsie says. "How are you?"

Theta almost starts to tell her about the light, but stops. Some instinct urges her to keep that information a secret — after all, there's clearly something dangerous about it, and it wouldn't be right to drag Elsie into it.

"I'm fine," she says instead, sticking to safe topics. "How's Tom doing?"

Elsie's husband, an officer in the Royal Navy, always sends telegrams home. It's sweet, and Theta's glad that Elsie has such an attentive husband, though he's rarely able to come home.

"He's well," Elsie smiles. "Those German submarines are making life difficult, but he's stayed safe so far. And he sent presents for the children. Just little things, but they were all so happy." She laughs and shakes her head. "You know, Violet was telling me she wanted to work here when she grows up. I told her that hopefully she won't have to, but she was so insistent about it. Think she's got my sense of duty."

Theta smiles. "Not a bad thing to have."

She's never met any of Elsie's three children, despite several invitations to Sunday dinner, but she hears the most stories about the youngest, Violet. The girl takes after her mother, perhaps in more ways than Elsie would prefer — so often, she complains about knowing how her own mother must have felt raising her. Theta always laughs and nods, and carefully dodges any questions about her own parents.

They were distant, she remembers that much. Never cruel, but never loving. Certainly never proud of her; she always refused to follow traditions, and her family was the traditional type. One boy, one girl, both raised to grow up and follow in their parents' footsteps. The only family that she'd truly cared for had been her grandmother, and she had died when Theta was ten. Theta ran away six years later and never looked back.

She gives Elsie a nod and a final smile, and then heads for the inspection chamber. They both have work to do.

  
As she checks connections and secures too-loose rivets, Theta thinks about the light, and about where it had disappeared to. One of the buildings forming that alleyway has been empty ever since the department store that had last occupied it went out of business. Perhaps whatever it was had hidden in there in the chaos. It certainly couldn't hurt to check.

Her shift passes in similar repetitious motion to the day before; she checks over the planes, ensures they're safe to fly, and sends them down to the hangars. Nothing more interesting than a missing bolt from the side one plane, which Theta quickly replaces.

As the clock strikes five, she gathers her things and heads out the door, waving at Henry and Elsie as she passes them. She can't spare time to chat — the abandoned building is calling to her.

  
  


Coat drawn tight around her to keep out the chill, Theta tries her hardest not to look suspicious as she sizes up the brickwork. Painted letters displaying the name of the shop that had previously occupied the space are still on the wall, already fading fast. The _Silver Lady Dept. Store_ was just never meant to last, it seems.

Unfortunately, the building is. The double doors are more than likely locked, and the ground-floor windows are all intact. Theta almost wishes she had a set of lockpicks, or some other way to open the doors, but that would certainly draw attention. There are plenty of people on the street, and the last thing she needs is to be seen.

"Oh!" she exclaims, ignoring the way some of the people glare at her. "That might work!"  
  


She ducks into the alleyway on the other side of the building. There hadn't been any door on that side she'd seen the light in, but there has to be some sort of back way in. And, sure enough, as Theta looks around the space — cluttered with junk and old trash, unlike the one on the opposite side — she sees a door.

Before trying to force it, she rattles the handle optimistically. Maybe the lock has broken, or maybe whoever last used it, probably weeks ago, forgot to lock the door to a soon-to-be abandoned building. Or, as Theta finds, when her jiggling of the handle yields nothing more than frustration and an annoying squeal of metal, the lock is both in working condition and use. She _really_ wishes she had lockpicks, now.

It probably wouldn't be hard to make an improvised set, given the tools she has at home. But any evidence the creature — if there even is a creature — may have left will already be fading. Theta frowns, and paces, and weighs her options.

The door is sturdy, too sturdy to break with her shoulder or anything short of an improvised battering ram. She could try breaking a window, though she'd have to do it from the street and would almost certainly be caught. The fire escape is rickety and too high for her to reach without some sort of assistance; and besides, it's doubtful the upper windows will be any easier to open.

With an annoyed sigh, Theta resigns herself to coming back the next day. It's far from ideal, but without some way to open the doors that won't rouse suspicion, it's really all she can do. Fortunately, tomorrow is Saturday, so at least she'll have more time to poke around when she does get inside.

  
  


Theta keeps her radio on the channel she'd listened to the previous night as she makes dinner. Sure enough, just as she's sitting down to eat, the announcer heralds the next installment in that show she'd caught the tail end of before. And, as if the universe is in some small way apologizing for the inconvenience of the locked door, there's even a recap of the plot.

A species of aliens are, through various tricks and advanced technologies, attempting to invade Earth in some distant future year. The main character, the amnesiac, is attempting to stop them with the help of a few residents of that mystical future. Thus far, they've uncovered the true goal of the aliens - erasing humanity and taking Earth for their own.

Theta finds it soothing to listen to, in a strangely nostalgic way. She feels as though she knows what's about to happen before it does, like she's heard the story before and just forgotten the details; a childhood anecdote only brought back to clarity by someone else's mention of it. Even when the segment ends on a terrible, tense moment, the characters facing certain death at the hands of the terrible monsters, Theta knows it all ends well.

As she washes her dishes, she makes a mental list of tasks for the following day. She needs to go shopping for groceries, as her pantry and icebox are becoming rather slim pickings, and she needs to either finish fixing the radiator or buy more firewood. Then, of course, there's the matter of breaking into the abandoned building. Lockpicks should be easy enough to figure out, so she can likely get those done before she goes to sleep for the night.

Once she's cleaned up entirely, Theta sits down to do just that. The thin scraps of left-over metal from several projects ago finally find a new use, their ends bent at careful right angles. An old hair pin from the depths of her coat pocket — she doesn't even remember where she'd gotten it, as she prefers to keep her hair long enough to tie back — gets bent into shape to serve as a tension rod. It's not highly sophisticated, but neither was the lock on the door she was trying to pick, so it seems a fair balance.

Theta doesn't remember exactly when she learned to pick locks, but it was some time during her childhood. Mechanical things had always fascinated her, and the locked door of her older brother's room was an inescapable temptation. Surely she must have taught herself some time around then, even if she can't recall exactly how. Her memories of her younger years have never been the clearest; even the more fond ones of her grandmother are fuzzy and indistinct.

She puts away the scraps of metal that weren't the right shape or thickness — she's learned the hard way that leaving bits and pieces scattered on the floor is a quick way to injure herself — and slips her new lockpicks into her coat pocket. On the hopefully slim chance that she _does_ get caught, she can pass them off as junk metal. But she doesn't plan to get caught.

  
  


Theta dreams of red grass again. Only it isn't red grass, it's an impossible blue box and a sky full of stars brought close enough to touch, but it feels the same as the dreams of that rusted city. So real, like she could taste the stardust if she were to stick her tongue out, like she'd wake up with the bruises if she were to trip and fall.

The box is a ship, and Theta her captain — and somehow, she knows the box is a _she_ — leading expeditions across beautiful clusters of stars and planets. An entire universe, waiting to be seen. It's wonderful, and though she knows it's a dream, Theta doesn't want to wake up. She wants to live like this forever, and never grow tired of the wonder she feels when she pilots her brilliant ship to a new sight.

But eventually, she does wake. Unlike when she had woken from the nightmare of falling darkness the morning before, it's at a reasonable hour; the rising sun is slipping through her window and painting the whole room golden.

Theta loves sunny mornings and colorful sunrises. They're her favorite part of a day, when she manages to see them, and somehow it feels like a good sign that today is beginning with one. She only hopes that good fortune lasts.

  
  


The proper errands that she needs to run are quickly taken care of - there are some benefits to living on the same street as some of the most prolific shops of London. Theta opts to buy more firewood, rather than hedge her bets on actually getting around to fixing the radiator on Sunday. It's not an impossibility, but she doubts it will happen.

By the time she's finished putting away her groceries and stacking up the firewood by the hearth, it's late enough in the morning that most people who are going anywhere have already done so. Even the foot traffic below her window has petered out to a few dozen, rather than the full, teeming crowd it had been earlier. So, lockpicks in her coat pocket and a nervous excitement churning in her stomach, Theta heads for the abandoned department store.

She takes the train as usual, simply because it's faster, though she hates the proximity it forces her into with others. Even sitting pressed as far into a corner as she can get still ends up with people uncomfortably close to her. Usually, she can live with that, but today, nerves already strung out with anticipation, she wishes the car were more empty.

When it reaches her stop, Theta is quick to get off the train and hurry above ground, onto the street. Though she's walked this route hundreds of times, could do it in her sleep by now, she glances around with all the nervousness of someone who's never been to London before. Her eyes dart from person to person, looking for any coppers who might see. There aren't any — it's a weekend day in a somewhat respectable part of town. Still, Theta makes sure no one is looking before she steps into the alleyway.

The door is still, rather disappointingly, if not surprisingly, locked when she checks the handle. But this time, she's come prepared. Pausing for one last look down the alley, just to be certain there isn't anyone watching, Theta pulls out her makeshift lockpicks and gets to work.

With fingers far steadier than her racing heart would suggest, she slips the tension rod into the lock and inserts a pick. As she wiggles the pick around, she crouches forward, listening for the telltale _click!_ of a completely undone lock. It's subtle, when it comes, but Theta grins when she hears it. Carefully, she twists the whole setup clockwise, and the door swings gently open on its own weight. She hastily pulls the lockpicks out and puts them back in her coat pocket, and slips inside the door.

It's dark inside, which doesn't come as much surprise, but Theta hasn't thought to bring a candle. Instead, she holds the door open, and hopes that the sunlight will be enough for her to see by for the time being. She's in some kind of back room, that much is clear, but she doesn't see any signs of the creature of light. The only thing that does catch her eye is a small silver figure in a glass case, perched somewhat precariously on top of a wooden crate. It's out of place, far too fine for the dusty back room of a neglected shop. From the sheen and shimmer of it, it's even real silver.

Theta steps closer, letting the door stay ajar. The statue intrigues her- almost like the man from the alleyway had, if less intense a sensation. Like she's seen it before, like the memories of it are on the very tip of her tongue, and if she could just _think_ she would understand.

Her hand presses gently on the glass case protecting the statue, smudging the clear surface. Theta's never been one for religion — another tradition of her family that she had shorn herself of — but something about it feels… unearthly, even without direct contact. This statue, wherever it may be from, whatever it may be for, is beyond her in some otherworldly way.

A loud noise startles her, the crash of something falling over. With a yelp that she quickly regrets making, Theta draws her hand back from the statue's case and whirls around. There's no one in the doorway, no policeman insisting that she's under arrest. It must have just been something in the room, disturbed by her movements and knocked to the floor.

She takes a deep, calming breath, and turns back to the statue. Part of her wants to take it home, study it, find out what it is. Another part, buried deeper in her mind next to dreams of red grass and blue boxes, urges her to leave it be. In the end, Theta listens to the latter; it would be suspicious to bring the statue back to her flat, and it's _strange_ in a way that's beginning to unsettle her the longer she looks at it. Though its form is more a suggestion of a dancer than a true mimicry of a body, it feels uncannily lifelike.

Theta's certain that it's connected to the light, even if she can't provide a reason _why._ She just knows that it is. But it isn't the source of the light. Connection without causation, she thinks, and something in the back of her mind prickles. Yes, they're definitely connected.

More than anything, she wishes that she had some way to analyze the thing, like the portable scanning device that she had dreamed up while idly working on that clockwork toy. Sadly, that sort of contraption is improbable, at the very least, and far beyond the resources that she has at hand.

With a gentle push, Theta moves the statue more securely onto the crate it sits atop. It needs to stay in one piece, she thinks, and then wonders where that thought even came from. She shakes her head. This whole affair with the light has been nothing but baffling and headache-inducing. Maybe it's for the best that this statue seems a dead end. Ever since she saw that light, the pursuit of it has consumed her, and that seems a dangerous road to travel down. She has more important things to worry about than a mysterious light and a strange man and an eerie statue.

Theta locks the door from the inside and closes it firmly when she leaves. It feels a bit symbolic, in a way; closing the door on that unsolved mystery, both literally and metaphorically. The thunk of the door fitting back into the jamb rattles up her arm ever so slightly. She tests the knob, just to make sure that it's locked, and walks out of the alleyway.

She thinks she'll walk home, this time. The fresh air might do her some good.

  
  


Theta puts a chicken in the oven for the next week, and listens to the next installment of the radio show as she works on fixing the radiator. It's tedious but not particularly complicated work, so she quickly loses herself in the soothing tone of the main character's voice as he dismantles the plot of the alien creatures.

After the radiator is back up and running, without the annoying squeak that had prompted her to dismantle it in the first place, Theta sighs and flops listlessly onto her sofa. Though she doesn't regret leaving the statue in the department store, it still won't leave her mind, and now that she no longer has the radiator and the show to occupy her… she can't stop wondering what might have happened if she had taken it. Nothing good, she's sure, but perhaps something _exciting._

Shaking her head, she forces herself to sit back up and go to bed. She can read by candlelight until she feels properly tired, and hopefully by tomorrow the whole business with the light will be in the back of her mind. Nothing else has ever truly held her attention for more than a handful of days, so why should this be any different?

A well-loved copy of _Frankenstein_ serves as her attempt to lull herself to sleep. It was one of the first books she remembers buying; she'd felt drawn to it, and some slight kinship with the author. The tale of a scientist's hubris, his own child come back to haunt him, always pulls her in, and she considers — far too late, already halfway through the tale — that it might not have been the best choice of bedtime story.

When she does drift off, it's only after she's finished the book. Both monsters, be they man or something more, dead, and their tragedies to serve as a warning. She's always found the poetry of that quite nice.

Her dreams that night are strange. Static, restrained, sharp; all the details blurry but jagged at the edges like knives and needles. She wakes feeling like her insides have been scooped out and left raw.

Sunday passes in a bit of a blur. She tidies up the flat, prepares meals in advance so that she won't have to do it when she comes home from work, and adamantly does not think about the light or the statue at all. By the time she falls asleep, she's nearly forgotten about it entirely.

And then she dreams about a cold, grey world, twisted tree-trunks rising into the air and laced through with white light. She's alone, nothing but her in this place except for the trees that are not trees, that pulse with the light like veins full of blood, like something horribly organic. The light gathers around her, and she can feel it thrumming with energy like the silver statue had when she'd pressed her hand to the glass, and-

Theta gasps, choking for breath. Her heart is racing, and she's wide awake, even though she'd been asleep not even a second ago. It feels like she's just run the whole length of London — her legs are shaky, her chest tight, throat wheezing on her inhales. She doesn't even remember what she was dreaming about, but she sincerely hopes it never happens again.

Trying to put it out of her mind, she gets up and gets ready for work. The routine of it is soothing, somewhat, a balm against the dream-induced panic that still lingers in her heart. Even the crush of people on the train is familiar enough to help.

She doesn't look in either of the alleys bordering the abandoned department store as she passes by. She doesn't even glance at the building, keeping her head high and eyes focused ahead of her as she makes her way to the factory. Before the light, she hadn't noticed it at all, and she doesn't intend to do any differently now. Theta does not care.

Even when she's heading back from her shift, and the sun has begun to set just enough that any light in either alleyway would be plain to see, Theta doesn't look. Her eyes do not flicker over, just a little, just to see if there's a glimmer of radiance shining off the cobbles. She keeps walking, and she doesn't think about the light.

  
  


The next day when she walks into the factory, crossing the floor, she notices that Elsie is missing. She hopes it's nothing; Elsie's rarely late, but with three kids to get out the door to school, it's not uncommon. Theta chalks it up to that, at least until her lunch break. Then, after she finishes her food, she decides to check and see if Elsie's there yet.

But when she pokes her head into the hustle and bustle of the floor, she doesn't see the brown curls she's looking for. Theta frowns. She's properly worried now, thinking back to their conversation before she'd left the day before and combing through it for any hint of something wrong.

Henry spots her and waves her over. He's on his lunch break as well, half of a sandwich balanced somewhat precariously on his leg as he sits off to the side.

"What's the matter, Wright?"

"Have you seen Elsie?" Sitting down next to him, Theta folds her knees up against her chest. "She wasn't here this morning."

"Nah, think she's sick," Henry says. "She wasn't feeling good when she left last night, and said one of her kids was feeling under the weather, too."

Theta hums, frowning. She had been afraid of that. "Bad enough she had to stay home?"

Henry shrugs. "Something 'bout a fever, thought it might be pox. I just told her not to give it to me."

"Maybe I'll check in on her," Theta mutters. She's pretty sure she's still got Elsie's address from when she'd been invited over for Sunday dinner last winter, even though she'd had to decline. The radiator had broken again, and there had been a snowstorm coming, so Theta had stayed home to fix it.

"Tell her I wish her well." Henry stands, brushing crumbs off his trousers. "I've got to get back to working."

Theta rises as well. "Yeah. Let me know if you hear anything from her, would you?"

"Sure thing," he nods, and walks back to the conveyor belts.

As she gets to work again, Theta worries. With Tom away at sea and no other family living with them — she remembers Elsie complaining about an awful row with her sister a few months ago — if she really is sick, then she's going to be in a tricky position. Less because of losing her job, thanks to Tom's income and her own wealthy parents, but because of the children.

Theta decides to drop by on Wednesday night, just in case. She can make some sort of meal, help save Elsie the effort of cooking for once. It's really the least that she can do, for one of the few true friends that she has.

  
  


Wednesday night comes quicker than Theta had thought it would, in a mess of panicked cooking and frantic attempts to locate Elsie's house. The ham she'd prepared is cold by the time she finally manages to locate the statuesque brownstone, but Theta is sure Elsie won't mind if she borrows her oven for a little bit.

Carefully shifting the dish to one arm, Theta rings the doorbell. A moment later, the door is answered by a tall boy with Elsie's brown eyes and the gangliness of a growing boy.

"Hi, I'm Theta. I'm a friend of your mum's, and I was just popping by to drop off some dinner, in case she didn't feel like cooking. Because she hasn't been at work since Monday, and I got a bit worried she might be sick. Is she sick?" Theta is well aware that she's rambling, and probably being all kinds of improper, but she's never been very sure how to interact with kids.

The boy's eyes dart to the side, nervous. "She told me not to tell Alexander or Violet, but she hasn't been feeling well. And she threw up this morning, and I had to clean it up 'cause she was too tired to move. And she's been having a fever."

"Good thing I came, then," Theta says. "Mind letting me in? It's kind of hard to hold a ham with one hand. You're Isaac, right? The oldest one."

He nods. "Yeah. I'm going to be fourteen in a month and a half."

Isaac holds the door open and Theta slips past him, into the sitting room. Violet — presumably, by the long hair and dress — is flat on her stomach on the floor, playing with a doll made of fabric scraps. By process of elimination, then, it must be Alexander who's on the sofa, squinting at a sheet of paper like it's personally offended him. Neither of them take any more interest in her than looking up briefly and going back to what they were doing, and Theta doesn't feel the need to try to make small talk.

She lets Isaac lead her to the kitchen, setting the ham down on the counter. Her hand reaches for the oven, and then she reconsiders.

"I'm going to check in on your mum, okay?"

Isaac nods. "She's upstairs. It's the furthest down the hall."

"Farthest," Theta corrects, before she thinks to stop herself. "Furthest is metaphorical distance, farthest is literal."

"Oh," he says. "Didn't know that."

She shrugs, trying to sound cheerful. "Now you do!"

And then, before she can be any more awkward, she leaves the kitchen in search of the stairs. Hopefully, Elsie will be awake, and Theta can explain that she was just checking in.

The door farthest down the hall is shut when she reaches it, and she doesn't see any light leaking out from beneath to indicate a candle is lit inside. She tries not to let that worry her. Gently, Theta turns the knob and steps inside.

The room _smells_ like illness, like exhaustion and weariness, thick and unsettling. The window shades are drawn shut, only letting a thin beam of the fading sunlight slip out onto the wooden floor. Elsie's head is propped up on pillows, her hair unbrushed and spread across the white of the pillowcase, her eyes shut and the blankets covering her. Maybe it's just the dim lighting, but she looks pale and tired, lifeless compared to her usual vibrancy.

It's definitely not a common cold, or anything so simple as that. Theta hasn't seen a pox victim up close before, but she knows enough about the early symptoms to be worried. Exhaustion and fevers are just the start of what may be to come.

"Elsie?" Theta's voice is barely above a whisper. When she gets no response, she raises it slightly and tries again. "Elsie, it's Theta."

Still nothing. She sighs. She'd been planning to just leave after dropping the food off, but she can't in good consciousness leave three kids alone without dinner. Isaac probably knows how to work the oven, but… he shouldn't have to. He's only thirteen, still a child, and shouldn't have to care for his siblings like that. Theta can suffer through one meal of awkward conversation for their sake.

Theta backs out of Elsie's room and closes the door. She'll check in on her before she leaves, and perhaps by then, she'll be conscious.

  
  


The children take it in stride when she announces that, since their mum is feeling so tired today, she'll be making dinner and putting them to bed. Or at least, two of the three do.

"Why's Mummy tired, then?" Violet demands. "She's _always_ awake."

"She had a long day and just needed to go to sleep early," Theta explains.

Violet frowns, clearly not convinced. "But she didn't do anything! She was in bed _all day._ _I'm_ not allowed to stay in bed all day, I have to go to school."

"You didn't have to go when you had a cold," Isaac snaps. "Mum's just got a cold, okay, Vi?"

"Does she really?" Violet asks, looking at Theta as though she expects a different, more satisfactory, answer.

"Well, it's a bit worse than a cold, but… yes." Theta tries a reassuring smile. "I'm sure she'll be fine if she's just allowed to get some sleep, though." Before Violet can ask anything that might lead down the unpleasant road of explaining smallpox to a six-year-old, Theta changes the subject. "You lot must be hungry, right?"

"Yes!" Violet nods emphatically, her messy black curls flying everywhere. There had, when Theta arrived, been a ribbon holding them back, but now it's tied around the fabric doll's neck.

Alexander nods as well, much less enthusiastic than his sister.

Theta tries to hide her relief at their cooperation. She'd been a little scared they would protest or complain. "Right! Then I'll go heat up some food, and we can all have dinner."

  
  


Somehow, though she's still not quite sure what chain of events brought the situation about, Theta spends the entirety of the meal explaining the basics of welding — much to Violet's delight. The girl hangs on to her every word, wide eyed and only stopped from asking incessant questions by the food in her mouth. Though the boys had been less transfixed, Alexander had raised several good points about the mathematical side of things.

They're all good kids, Theta thinks as she cleans up. Isaac even helps, putting away the dishes after she washes them; the younger two are back to playing in the sitting room. She only hopes that the next time she sees them comes under happier circumstances.

As she passes Isaac the final plate, she leans her head into the sitting room and says, "I'm going to check on your mum, and then I expect to see all three of you in your beds, okay?"

Isaac opens his mouth to protest, and Theta lowers her voice conspiratorially.

"You can put a candle on and read something if you'd like. But Alexander and Violet need to sleep, so they can't know," she whispers. "Only if you help get them ready for bed, though."

Grinning at the prospect, Isaac nods.

"So go on then!" Theta gestures to the sitting room.

As Violet complains about the indignities of bedtime, Theta heads up the stairs, back to Elsie's room. She has a plate of ham in one hand, on the off chance that Elsie is both awake and fit to eat.

This time, when she opens the door, Elsie seems to be awake. It helps, somewhat, with the sickly tinge to her skin, but she still doesn't look healthy.

"Theta? What are you doing here?" she asks. "What time is- the children, where are the children?"

"They're okay," Theta says quickly. "I fed them. You didn't show up to work, and I got worried, and I still had your address so I thought I'd come by and see if you were okay — and I brought food — but you weren't awake when I arrived, so I thought I'd manage dinner. I brought you some, if you want."

Elsie blinks. "You really do ramble when you're nervous."

"You're sick, and there's nobody to help you." Theta shrugs, trying to cover her worry. "I just wanted to make sure nothing worse was happening. Have you seen a doctor?"

"Does it look like I could get up to do that?" Elsie asks, pointedly. "I can barely get downstairs in the mornings."

"Good point," Theta admits. "I could see about getting one to come by tomorrow, if you'd like."

"I- yes, I think that would be a good idea." With a soft sigh, Elsie's head sinks further into the pillow it's resting on. "Thank you, Theta, really. I've been so exhausted recently, I just… Thank you."

Shaking her head slightly, Theta protests, "It's the least I can do."

"I appreciate it anyway," Elsie says. Then she smiles, just a little, and sits up. "Now give me that plate, I'm starving."

Theta happily hands over the plate, though she's careful not to get too close, just in case it is pox. She'd forgotten to grab silverware, but Elsie doesn't seem to care much for propriety at the moment, and just eats with her fingers.

"Violet seemed very interested in learning about welding," Theta says, mostly to fill the silence. "She might have been serious about following in your footsteps. Asked _lots_ of questions. I barely had time to eat!"

Elsie laughs, though it devolves into a bit of a cough after a moment. "She's a personality, isn't she?"

"Yeah." A smile tugs Theta's lips upward. "They're all brilliant kids."

"I know," Elsie says fondly.

It takes Theta a moment to realize that Elsie's drifted off to unconsciousness again, her brown eyes slipping shut and head resting fully on the pillow. Gently, Theta picks up the empty plate, careful not to disturb her.

"Sweet dreams," she whispers, closing the door behind her.

  
  


Despite Violet''s protests against going to bed, when Theta pokes her head into each of the doors lining the hall, she finds the girl dead asleep. The next door down the hall is Alexander's room, and he, too, is sleeping peacefully. Isaac is awake, a candle lit on his bedside table and a book in his lap.

He looks up when Theta pushes his door open. "Is Mum okay?"

"She's fine," Theta assures him. "Just tired, is all. There'll be a doctor coming by soon to check up on her. What're you reading?"

"The Wizard of Oz," he says. "It's an American book, but it's _wonderful._ I got it for Christmas and Mum keeps trying to get me to read it to Violet, but she won't sit still long enough."

That makes her smile. "Well, make sure you go to sleep soon."

"I will, I promise." Isaac pauses, then asks, "Are you coming back tomorrow?"

She pauses. That hadn't been part of the plan, but one visit from the doctor is hardly going to cure Elsie's condition, whatever it may be. Even if it isn't pox, she won't be well enough to make dinner for her children or herself.

"Not sure yet," Theta says, because she genuinely _isn't._

"I hope you do," he says, with all the solemn honesty of a child who thinks they're grown up. "You seem nice, and you managed to keep Violet entertained for all of dinner."

"I'll just have to come back, then," she smiles, and finds that she doesn't really dread the thought.

Isaac nods. "Good. Goodnight, then, Miss Theta."

Honorifics have never felt quite right to her, but it's endearing hearing it from him. At least for Elsie's kids, she thinks she can manage being _Miss_ Theta.

"Goodnight, Isaac," she replies, closing the door.

  
  


Theta lays awake in bed for hours after she gets home, and it's pushing one in the morning when she finally falls asleep. She wants to help Elsie, of course she does, but she doesn't know _how._ There's got to be some way she can do more to help. It's her responsibility, her duty, to care.

Her dreams are turbulent, that night; filled with indecision and complicated emotions and above everything, the urge to make things better.

  
  


She does come back the next day, with a physician in tow. Theta isn't often sick, so she doesn't really know the best way to choose a doctor, but she'd asked around the factory for advice and been led to Dr. Cyril Abernathy.

When Theta knocks on Elsie's door, Isaac opens it again, and immediately smiles at seeing her.

"You did come!" he exclaims.

Theta smiles and shrugs. "Well, I wanted to make sure Dr. Abernathy here got to the right house."

The aforementioned doctor clears his throat rather pointedly, and Theta forces herself to focus.

"He needs to see your mum in person, so could you let us in?"

Isaac nods and pulls the door all the way open, allowing them inside. Though she could probably send the doctor up by himself, Theta decides to follow him to Elsie's room. She's still rather worried about her friend.

Elsie's awake when they come in, though only just. Her face is even paler than it had been the night before, and she looks so tired that Theta's heart aches.

"What's wrong with her?" Abernathy asks.

"Fatigue, fever, some vomiting," Theta replies. "It only started a few days ago."

  
He seems unimpressed. "And you're sure it isn't just a passing illness?"

"Yes. She hasn't even been able to get out of bed," she says.

Abernathy makes a derisive noise. "Where's her husband?"

"In the Royal Navy. He's not exactly available right now." Theta finds her voice becoming sharp and a little mean, but she can't really help it. Abernathy's attitude annoys her. "She mentioned that she thought it might be smallpox."

Another dismissive grunt. "I'll be the judge of that. Now, I work best alone. I'm sure you can find something else to do."

Oh, she could slap him. The idea is rather tempting. But- no, it's not worth it. Theta grits her teeth and stalks out of the bedroom and down the stairs. As long as he can diagnose what's wrong with Elsie, she'll keep her mouth shut.

"Does he know what's wrong with Mum yet?" Violet asks.

Theta forces her face into something less obviously annoyed. "No, not yet."

"Oh." Violet frowns, then goes back to enacting some Shakesperian-level tragedy with her doll. Theta thinks the red ribbon is meant to represent blood. It's rather generously spread on the wooden floor and leading out from the doll's neck, so she certainly _hopes_ it's meant to be blood, and not the other alternative.

"Miss Theta, you're good with numbers, right?" Alexander says, looking up from the paper balanced on his legs. "Can you help me with my maths?"

"Probably." She makes a face. "Been a while since I took a maths class."

Alexander scootches over on the sofa to let her sit next to him, and she lets herself forget about worrying about Elsie for a little while. Explaining the basics of algebra to Alexander is a good distraction — though the boy clearly enjoys the subject, it just hasn't clicked for him yet. Theta knows the feeling.

School had always been a struggle, she remembers. Too easily distractible, more concerned about _doing_ rather than just _learning._ She supposes that her teachers might have had a point, when they had said that - after all, she can barely recall any of the details of taking the classes.

It's only when she hears footsteps on the stairs that she remembers Dr. Abernathy. He stops in the sitting room and looks with clear disdain at the sight of her helping Alexander.

"It's not smallpox," he announces. "Nor is it any variety of flu. She just needs sunlight and less time in the factory. I will send the bill by the end of the month."

"A bill for what?" Theta snaps. "Coming in and not even giving a proper diagnosis? What exactly does she have, _doctor?_ "

Abernathy frowns. "I beg your pardon, madam?"

"You should!" She stands, stepping over Violet's artistically exsanguinated doll to glare at Abernathy. "You didn't do anything! I want to know what your _actual_ diagnosis is."

"And what sort of medical training do you have, that you would understand if I told you?" he asks, sneering.

"That doesn't matter. You're a doctor, your job is to help people." Despite being a full head shorter than him, Theta manages to loom angrily over the man. "You're not being very helpful."

"My _job_ is to check up on patients and treat them if there is something wrong," Abernathy retorts. "The only thing wrong with that woman is a lack of fresh air and a chronic state of overwork. Something you seem to be suffering from as well."

With that, he turns and walks out of the front door. Theta is half-tempted to go after him, but she gives it up as a lost cause. Clearly, he doesn't know what's wrong with Elsie, so there's hardly any point in wasting more time arguing with him. She sighs.

"He's awful," Violet says. "I don't like him."

Theta can't help a small smile at the girl's bluntness. "Me neither."

  
  


Somehow, she ends up at Elsie's house again on Friday. She genuinely hadn't planned to, but Elsie can't do very much bedridden, and Alexander still needed help understanding how to work with variables, and Violet had expressed an interest in clockwork, and Isaac had asked again if she was going to come back, and Theta just couldn't say no to them.

And then, gradually, it becomes less of something she needs to plan _for,_ and more something she needs to plan _around._ Spending the evenings at Elsie's house, making dinner and entertaining the kids for a little while before putting them to bed and talking to Elsie until she falls asleep, becomes part of her life.

Despite that, it still comes as somewhat of a surprise when Elsie invites her to stay the night.

"I just feel terrible," Elsie says one night, after the kids have been put to sleep and Theta is soon to be leaving. "You always have to rush off to catch the train, and I know your flat is a good ways away. You're not getting home until eleven at the earliest. It just makes more sense for you to stay the night here."

"It's fine," Theta protests. "Really. And Tom's coming home for the holidays soon, isn't he?"

The flat look Elsie gives her is answer enough. "And he'll be home until New Year's, then he'll be back off again. Barely here for two weeks, if that. Oh, sure, he _said_ he'd try to get longer, what with me being sick, but he's an officer and there's a war on. I miss him, don't get me wrong, but he's hardly going to be staying home."

"I'll think about it," Theta says.

And she does. She thinks about it so much that she doesn't even manage to fall asleep that night, weighing the pros and cons and _'is it worth it'_ s until her mind spins. It's not that weighty a decision, really. She would just sleep over at Elsie's during the week, and save herself some train fare and a little time. But she thinks about it, and can't stop from thinking that, at that point, she might as well just move in permanently; and therein lies the conundrum.

Theta isn't _domestic._ When she cooks and cleans it's only because she must. Proper family dinners make her skin itch, she's soundly rejected the idea of ever having children, and she doesn't do holidays. Personally, she thinks that she'd be miserable to live with.

But… hasn't she been making dinners for Elsie for weeks now? Hasn't she been eating them with Elsie's children, who go to her for help with their schoolwork and to play with and whenever they've finished a new book and want to talk about it? Hasn't she been working to find gifts to give them for Christmas?

She sighs and turns over in bed again. Maybe she'll try it just the once, and go from there.

  
  


'Just the once,' turns into 'Well, only for the week,' turns into 'Is it okay if I leave my things here?' over the course of November and December, and when Tom comes home for Christmas and Theta goes back to her flat, she misses it. She misses Elsie, she misses the children, she misses dinners with all of them. It's only until the new year — Elsie had been right about Tom's troubles getting extended leave — but it makes Theta's holidays feel dreary.

She makes herself hot cocoa on Christmas Eve and turns on her radio for the first time in weeks. It's still set to the channel with that radio drama, she realizes, as she hears the main character's voice. She'd never changed it, and then everything else had happened, and she'd forgotten all about it. By now, there's some new alien force, and they're manipulating people's minds to use as some sort of power source for their nefarious technology. Naturally, the last ten minutes of the episode she'd managed to catch end in a cliffhanger. Theta's a little surprised it's still airing installments, even on the day before Christmas.

Her cocoa is long finished by the time the episode has ended, and it's dark and cold even with the fire in the hearth and the radiator running, so she puts the mug in the sink to wash in the morning and goes to bed. It's unfamiliar, after spending so many nights in the spare bedroom at Elsie's. The mattress doesn't feel right, the pillows are arranged just differently enough to be noticeable, the blankets seem to fall differently than they used to.

Theta's sleep is restless that night. It's the first time in weeks that she dreams vividly, visions of fantastical creatures and adventures troubling her mind. She wakes far too early, despite it being the weekend, and can't manage to fall back asleep.

On a whim, she gets dressed and decides to go for a walk. The cold air will clear her head, and with the holiday she doubts that many people will be doing the same.

Though the once-pristine snowfall from several days ago has long become grey and slushy, it still gives an ethereal look to the streets of London as Theta walks. The sun is just rising over the buildings, dripping chilly gold over the silver-coated rooftops and trickling down onto the road. Theta can see her breath fogging in front of her as she stuffs her hands into her pockets to keep them warm. She'd forgotten to grab gloves, but doesn't feel like turning around.

The first poster, she barely notices. It's stuck to the post of a streetlamp, layering over dozens of similar papers, and she only pays even the slightest attention to it because of the boldness of the font. But her eyes flick over it, and she keeps walking without actually reading it.

And then she sees another one, identical to the first, on the side of a building. The same large letters, the same wide lines that draw her eyes. This time, she does stop to read it.

"Missing child, last seen on December twenty-third." Theta mutters. "Boy, ten years of age, brown hair and eyes, name of Theodore. Bring any information to…"

She makes a note of the address, just in case, and keeps walking. It's always terrible when a person goes missing, but this is London, and as a former runaway herself, Theta is never quite sure whether to trust such posters. Most of the time, she's sure that they're from genuinely concerned parents, but she's still somewhat wary.

But, spurred on by the poster, she does look for any young boy fitting the description as she walks. It's still early — only seven, if she had to guess — and so there aren't very many people out in the first place, let alone children. By the time she returns to her flat at a quarter past seven, she's only seen one other person; an older man walking a dog.

Theta spends the rest of Christmas in her flat, reading and tinkering and listening to the radio. The Winstead family has gone elsewhere for the holidays, visiting relatives, and so the whole house is silent but for the sounds of tinny Christmas carols over the radio. It's pleasant, in a way, though part of her wishes there was something more exciting happening. She just feels… wrong, sitting around on Christmas day with nothing else going on. But then, she always has, and she's never quite understood why.

When she finally goes to bed, she dreams of that same blue box that she had first seen after discovering the light. She dreams of a ship hanging in the sky and people made of glass and fireworks bursting across galaxies and golden light.

  
  


The next morning, she has to work. No rest for those that help the military function, not these days. As she gets off the train, stepping out into the cold street, she sees another one of the missing child posters. It jogs her memory, and she wonders idly if anyone's found the boy yet. She hopes so; the nights are frigid in winter, and without a place to stay they could even be deadly.

It's only when she's walking back the same way, after her shift is over, that she sees someone tearing down the poster. Curious, and perhaps a little annoyed, Theta walks up to the broad-shouldered figure.

"Why're you tearing that down?" she asks.

"None of your business." The man finishes ripping the poster off the lamppost, leaving only a few tiny scraps of paper clinging to the metal.

He turns, crumpling the paper up, and he looks _young._ His build and deep voice had fooled Theta for a moment, but he's not even an adult. At most, he's a year older than Isaac, if that.

"I'm making it my business," Theta says. "Now, why did you tear that poster down? It's for a missing kid."

"He's not missing," the boy snaps. "He's-"

He cuts off, mouth snapping shut, but it's too late. Theta's interested, now — more than she was before.

She tilts her head. "Do you know where he is, then?"

"No!" Glaring, the boy stuffs the torn poster into his pocket and steps away from her. "Look, lady, I just didn't like seeing it, okay?"

Theta takes a step closer, not caring how mad she must look to everyone on the street seeing the scene. "And why's that?"

"Why do you care so much?" the boy demands.

"Because I know what it's like. I ran away from my family when I was younger, and I'm sure they put up missing posters for me, too." Theta tries the same reassuring smile she gives Alexander when he's struggling with an equation. "If you know he's okay, then I can stop worrying every time I see one of those posters. That's all."

"He didn't _want_ to run away," the boy mutters. "But… it weren't his parents in that house anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Glancing nervously around, the boy says, "Means, they looked like his parents, but they weren't. Human, that is. Didn't talk right, didn't move right, didn't seem to care about him 'cept for keeping him in the house. So Theo ran."

After the rather strange and frustrating dead end to her investigation into the light she'd seen, so long ago now, Theta's been trying not to bother with such things. Between caring for Elsie and her job, she just hasn't had the time even if she _had_ found something suspicious to investigate. But she's curious now, and already going stir crazy stuck alone in her own flat, and before she can remind herself that she's a grown adult with more things to worry about than a secondhand account of a ten-year-old's supposedly not right parents, Theta says, "Can you tell me anything else?"

  
  


To get out of the cold, Theta and the boy — Victor, as he informs her — duck into the train station. Then, sitting on a bench out of the way, he begins to explain.

"I don't really know everything about it," he starts. "But me and Theo are at the same school, and he's real quiet so he gets picked on, yeah? And I told one of those knobs doing it to knock it off, and he started hanging around with me. A while ago, 'fore the holidays, he was talking about how his parents were being real weird, and then he showed up knocking at my front door saying he needed to stay with me 'cause, well… I told you. They weren't right."

Theta sits and processes the information for a moment. She doesn't know what any of this could mean, or what could be causing it, but she _feels_ like she should. It's on the tip of her tongue, and it's driving her mad that she doesn't understand why. She's never encountered anything like this before, and yet some part of her is insisting that she can fix this.

"Theo is safe, right?" she asks. The wellbeing of the child should take priority here, she thinks.

Victor nods. "Yeah, my parents don't care if he stays with us. They're never home anyhow."

That, though worrying in some respects, is reassuring in others. Theta decides to count it as a win.

"I don't know how much I can help," she says, "but I'm going to do my best. Can I see that poster you took down?"

"Why?" Victor asks.

"It's got a way to contact Theo's parents on it," Theta explains. "Which is exactly what I plan to do."

His eyes go wide. "What? Are you mad?"

"Maybe a little bit," she admits. It is an absolutely insane idea, and she's not sure where it came from, but it is the best thing she's got so far for finding a lead to solve this. "If you don't give me the one you've got, I'll just find another one. You shouldn't need to be worrying about this, Victor. I'm an adult. I'll handle it."

Staring at her like he doesn't know what to make of her, Victor pulls the wrinkled piece of paper out of his coat and hands it to her. Theta lays it flat on her leg, smoothing out the creases and tears, then folds it neatly in half twice and sticks it in her own pocket.

She's halfway to standing when Victor asks, "How'm I supposed to tell Theo that his parents are back to normal? If you do fix this."

"Ah." Theta pauses. "Good question. Do you live around here?"

"Sort of," he shrugs. "Not real close, but I walked here, didn't I?"

"I'll meet you at this train station in… three days. Same time as now. Sound good?"

Three days probably isn't enough to fix whatever this is, but she can at least go poking around and gather some info. Her mind is already racing, filled with excitement and anticipation, ready to pull loose the threads tying this puzzle together.

Victor nods, then laughs a little. "You know, I'm not sure why I'm so sure I can believe you."

"I've just got one of those faces," she says, and tries to shake off the feeling of deja vu.

With another look at her as though she's said something odd, Victor stands and disappears into the crowd of people. Theta can't help from hoping that he makes it home alright.

It's a struggle, pushing down the urge to go and investigate right away, but she _can't._ As much as she wants to, it's just not practical. She's still carrying the bag for her lunch, for goodness sakes. Whatever lightheaded, impulsive flood of poor decision-making skills hit her the moment she heard about a child in potential danger will have to wait, at least until tomorrow.

  
  


Theta spends the night tossing and turning in bed. She can already tell that her dreams will be strange — they have been ever since she went back to sleeping in her own flat — and she doesn't want to be woken up far too early because she was trapped in a nightmare about some horrid monster. Or, worse, one of the dreams so wondrous that she wishes she could experience it in reality, that for some reason still leaves her gasping awake like she's been shocked. Whether the content of the dreams are pleasant or not, they never leave her rested, and always leave her worried. But eventually, so late at night that the shadows cast by the waxing moon's light are short and nearly gone through the gaps of her curtains, she does slip off to sleep.

Just as she'd feared, she dreams of much the same things that she'd seen the night before. A flooding room, stone walls and screaming and tears mixing with river water until she's soaked through. People — _faces_ — she knows but cannot remember made of glass and yet still warm to the touch when they hug, but she's never been a hugger, really. Swirls of red, gold, green, blue, silver, colors she doesn't even have names for against a backdrop of stars, and more people she knows-but-not-really. And, over all of it, gold like sunlight, like the first breath of air after being below the surface just long enough to make your lungs ache, tearing her to pieces and putting her back together all wrong.

There's a moment, when she wakes, where she doesn't feel like she's in the right body. She should be taller, and her hair is the wrong color, and her heart is too _lonely_ — how can a heart even be lonely? — and her lungs are too much beneath her ribs. And then it passes, and Theta is herself again, and she doesn't know if she wants to ever sleep again if she's going to wake up in that state.

  
  


She pays less attention than she should at work that day. Not badly enough to miss something, but the first plane she checks over takes her nearly twice as long as usual simply because her mind keeps wandering and her hands keep stilling partway through. After the first one, she's… well, not better, but less bad. By the time the end of her shift rolls around, she's checked over noticeably less planes she usually does.

It's fine, she tells herself. Everyone has their off days. It probably has nothing to do with the fact that she woke up feeling _wrong,_ and that in turn has nothing to do with her decision to meddle in something she doesn't even know how to fix. Deep down, though, she knows that the smart choice would have been to stay out of it.

But if she had, then who would help Theo? Even if it is nothing, then at least she'll be able to set a frightened child's mind to rest. And if there is something more sinister at play here, then better that she face it than Victor or Theo himself. It's the right thing to do.

The poster is still neatly folded into quarters in her coat pocket, and she unfolds it to look at the address printed at the bottom as she steps out of the factory. If she recalls correctly, the street isn't too far from where she stands now. Theta folds the paper back up, and starts walking.

  
  


The address is for a flat, part of a series of nearly identical townhouses split into top and bottom floors. Large enough for a small family, Theta supposes, though she's probably not the best judge of such things. Scanning the tidy metal numbers affixed to the fronts of each building, her eyes land on the right number, and she tries to project confidence as she strides up to it. Then, politely, she knocks.

For a moment, there's no response, and her hand goes to her pocket as she tries to remember if she ever did take those lockpicks out. And then, just as she realizes that they're at her flat on her bedside table, and she'd been stupid enough to leave them there, the door opens.

The man in the doorway looks normal enough; blond hair cut short, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, a beard covering most of his lower face. But his eyes are wrong, so cold that Theta actually feels a shiver run down her spine. And the closer she looks, the more she sees that his military-stiff posture is just a little _too_ straight, just a little too still.

"Yes? What is it?" he asks, in a clipped tone.

"What?" Theta blinks, then remembers how conversations are supposed to work. "Oh, yes, sorry. I think I have some information on your missing son, Theodore."

A hungry look, like a wolf spotting an injured deer — not that Theta's ever seen such a thing, but the simile feels right — flickers across the man's eyes. "Ah. Do come in, will you?"

Though she feels distinctly like the injured deer in this situation, Theta can't resist the chance to see more. Or, rather, the half of her that's pointing out how stupid she is for even coming here is overshadowed by the half that can't resist. She is achingly, terrifyingly aware of how foolish she is, but it's too late to turn back now.

"Thank you very much," she says with what she hopes is a smile and not a grimace. "It's awfully cold out, isn't it?"

"Quite."

She steps inside, into the unnervingly neat house. And unnerving is certainly the right word for it - it's like something out of a picture, every piece of furniture carefully arranged and no signs of living in sight. Even the air feels too still and undisturbed.

"So, what is it that you know about the location of Theodore?" the man asks, guiding her to an equally tidy sitting room. He gestures at the sofa like he's never made the motion before, but Theta stays standing.

"Well, I saw your poster up yesterday — good font choice, by the way, very eye-catching — and then I was heading home from work, and I saw this kid that fit the description. Right age and everything. I tried to get closer to see if it was him, but I think he saw me, 'cause he ran right off," Theta says, lying through her teeth. "It was… oh, I'm no good with street names, but do you know that one grocer that's right near the old cobbler's shop? It was right near there."

Her eyes dart around the room, searching for any sign of what might be going on here. She doesn't trust this man at all, and she's almost certain that he's not… not right. Even if he didn't unsettle her just with his presence, the lack of emotion regarding his missing son is just wrong.

He nods, once, terse. "Your information has been quite helpful." A pause, and then, like he's repeating something he's read about in books, "Would you like a cup of tea before you go?"

Theta knows she should say no. She's already gotten proof enough that Theo's escape was for the best, and the thought of being here any longer makes her want to throw up a little bit.

"Sure!" her mouth says, without her brain's input. "I love tea. Tea's great."

"I will prepare the tea." He steps past her, and she tries not to flinch. "Please, take a seat."

With another strained smile, Theta sits. The man disappears further into the flat, and she bounces back up, creeping around the opposite way from how he'd left. She doesn't know how long he'll be gone, but she should poke around while she can.

The first door she tries leads to a small bedroom - probably Theo's. It's just as eerily clean as everything else in the house, and not for the first time, Theta wonders who's responsible for this. She hasn't seen any sign of another person here, but Victor said 'parents', so there's probably a mother.

Theta tries the next door, and finds a washroom. Nothing remarkable about that, either.

Finally, the third door yields something interesting. The master bedroom, and it, though as spotless as every other room, is clearly not being used as a bedroom. No bed, no dresser, no sign of being a bedroom at all but for the layout of the house. Instead, there's all sorts of fascinating scientific equipment set up, all gleaming metal and dark slates covered in colorful lines. Theta's fascinated, though she has no clue what any of it might do. Slowly, entranced, she steps closer to one machine, reaching out to touch it as the red line zigzagging across the shiny black surface spikes.

"You should not be in here."

She jumps and whirls around with a yelp. In the doorway stands a woman, stock still and with unnaturally perfect posture. Every lock of her mousy hair is tucked back neatly, and her eyes are just as icy as her husband's.

"Sorry!" Theta squeaks. "I was… looking for the loo. This isn't it. Obviously. Interesting, though. I've never seen anything like it. What's it all for?"

"It is irrelevant. Please leave. Your tea is ready." The woman's voice is flat and emotionless, bland as the expression she wears.

Theta steps away from the machine, though she's wary of just squeezing past the woman in the doorway. "Oh, uh, great!"

Luckily, the woman steps aside, in a smooth motion that barely even causes her head to bob. With a nervous little laugh, Theta passes her, then turns.

"You know, I've just remembered that I've got a…" She tries to think of a plausible excuse. "A dog to feed. I won't be able to stay for tea. Hope you find your son! Have a lovely day!"

Then, as quickly as she can without running, Theta heads for the door. It's a near thing, but she doesn't _slam_ it behind her, though only because she barely even remembers to close it in her haste to leave. The first breath she takes of outside air, moving and flowing and alive, is beautiful. But she doesn't stay to savor it; at a brisk walk, she sets off for the train station. She needs to process this.

  
  


Processing it apparently consists of making a cup of tea, getting an old, empty journal she doesn't even remember the source of, and writing down everything she knows. It isn't much.

  * Theo's parents don't act like actual people do
  * They aren't people
  * What are they, then?
  * Suspicious equipment in their bedroom - science? Evil science?
  * Why do they need Theo?



Not technically a list, she's willing to admit, but it's the best she has at the moment. Theta paces and thinks. They need Theo for something, otherwise they wouldn't be so concerned with finding him. Does he know too much, or do they need him for whatever that equipment is for, or is it some combination of the two?

She groans and drags a hand down her face. She's not meant for this — she's an engineer, not a detective. Not that she thinks a detective would be any better suited to this than she is. The only sort of person she could imagine understanding the mysterious machines she'd seen is some kind of scientist, but she couldn't even begin to guess what kind.

As she walks back and forth across her sitting room, the half-empty mug of tea growing cold on the dinner table, she wonders whether she should go to the police. She could report the two for suspicious activity, and with everyone on such high alert these days, that would probably be enough. They would be taken care of, she could stop going mad over it, and… Theo would likely be given the same treatment or shunted into an orphanage. He'd never know what really happened to his parents or why they changed so abruptly. Theta can't do that to him.

What she really needs is some way to find out what they _want._ Once she has that, she can work out how to stop them, because there is no doubt in her mind that whatever they want isn't good. They don't seem to leave the house —not that they'd need to, since she doesn't imagine that they have jobs anymore — so any snooping around would be difficult at best. But she needs to figure out what those machines are for.

Maybe, Theta thinks, she should try a different approach.

  
  


"You want me to do _what?_ " Henry asks, incredulous.

"I know it sounds crazy," Theta starts, "but there's a child in danger and they're up to something. They already know my face, so I just need you to-"

"Pretend to be a government official so that you can sneak in and snoop around their flat?"

"Well, when you say it like that it sounds so much worse," she mutters. "But yes, basically, that."

Henry looks at her, despairing. "You've got issues, Wright."

"Please, Henry?" she says. "If nothing comes of it, I'll never ask you for a favor again, I swear."

He rolls his eyes, but Theta can tell that he's going to say yes. Henry is, at heart, a good man, and…

"You said there was a kid in danger, too?"

She nods. "He ran away, but they're looking for him, and it's not for anything good."

"But you don't know what?" Reasonably, he looks dubious.

"No, not yet," she agrees. "That's where you come in."

Henry worries at his bottom lip for a moment, then sighs. "Fine. You better not get me arrested for this."

"It's fine, I doubt they'll want to draw attention by calling the police," she assures him. From the look on his face, it wasn't quite as effective as she'd hoped it would be. "I'll meet you at the station tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Henry says. "See you then."

  
  


That Saturday, Theta is waiting in the same train station where, if all goes well, she'll be meeting Victor in a few hours. She really needs to get a new meeting place, she thinks. And then her eye catches on a figure that can only be Henry — his red hair is fairly distinctive.

Henry has dressed up, in what she assumes is the nicest suit he owns. Theta, on the other hand, has dressed as plainly and practically as possible in simple brown trousers and a dark blue jumper — she doesn't want to risk her coat. Her lockpicks sit in her front trouser pocket, the metal poking uncomfortably into her leg as she bounces it up and down nervously.

"Where's this house, then?" Henry asks.

"I'll show you," she says, standing to join him. "It's a bit of a walk, but not too bad, really."

She starts for the street, shivering slightly when she steps out and the cold air hits her all at once. Though she knows it would be impractical to have brought it, she misses her coat already.

Henry keeps pace with her as she walks briskly along the street. "Just for the record, I still think this is mad."

"But you're doing it," she replies, grinning slightly.

"But I'm doing it."

  
  


By the time they reach the right street, Theta's shivering slightly. The jumper is good, sure, but it's got nothing on her coat.

Stopping a few houses down, she turns to Henry. "It's that one there, with the dark green door. Just knock, say you're a house inspector, and if they ask any questions, flash this badge at them."

After a quick moment of digging around in her trouser pocket, she pulls out the flat bit of cheap metal that she had, as of last night, forced into the shape of a badge. He takes it with a raised eyebrow.

Theta rolls her eyes. "It's not perfect, but I'm pretty sure they won't look too close. They don't want to be suspicious. And if they offer tea, say yes but don't leave the sitting room."

"Right," he nods. Then he gives her a quick pat on the shoulder. "Don't get caught, okay?"

"I won't," she promises.

With that, they go their separate ways. Theta slips around the back of the row of houses — she's caught a glimpse of a back door when she'd been inside, and she fully intends to take advantage of that — while Henry walks confidently up to the front door.

Crouched at the back of the house, feeling for all the world like a terribly incompetent thief, Theta hears it when Henry knocks briskly at the door. A moment later, she can hear little bits of conversation, and then the door closing again. Hopefully, it worked.

Slowly, carefully, Theta slips her lockpicks from her pocket and begins working the back door of the townhouse open. Why they even bothered putting such a thing in when it only leads to an alleyway, she doesn't know, but she's hardly going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It's hard to hear the clicking and spinning of the lock over the sounds of Henry making loud, distracting conversation, but that's probably a good thing in the long run; the less she can hear, the less those terrifying approximations of people can hear of her attempts to break in. Finally, the lock _snick_ s into place, and she gently twists it, then pulls the knob to open the door. It leads into the kitchen, which is fortunately unoccupied, as Henry seems to be 'inspecting' the plumbing for the bathroom.

Knowing full well that she doesn't have very long, Theta creeps around to the door to the master bedroom and doesn't hesitate to slip inside. The door closes behind her not a moment too soon, as she hears Henry's footsteps outside mere seconds later. She freezes, tucking herself to the side of the door so that, if it does open, she won't be immediately visible.

"We don't need to check on this bedroom room, of course," Henry says. "Wouldn't want to be invading your privacy. What's the state of your kitchen?"

His voice and footsteps fade, and Theta relaxes slightly. After giving it another few seconds, she begins to inspect the machines that fill the room.

They're just as baffling as before, and she doesn't really know what to make of them. But there must be somewhere that the data is being recorded, and perhaps _that_ will be more clear. Theta rifles through a few stacks of papers on the floor — readouts, she assumes — but doesn't find anything that she can interpret.

Finally, for lack of anything more effective, she begins messing with the machines. One such contraption, a bulky lump of metal covered in odd dials and small, glowing screens, reacts as soon as she gets near. The strange lines on the screens jump, incomprehensible digits flickering from one to the next. When she backs away, it calms down, the digits ticking back to what they were before. Perhaps it measures proximity, or something wholly alien that she can't understand.

That's the issue with all of this — she doesn't understand enough. If she just knew how to read these machines, or had some way to discover what they're for, or could decipher the readouts, then she would know what to do. But she can't, and so she doesn't, and it's driving her mad. She _feels_ like she should know, like the information has just been hidden from her mind and she doesn't have any way to find it again. Which is, of course, absurd; she wouldn't even know where to go to learn about such things. 

Theta waves a hand in front of the proximity machine, watching it go haywire again. Fascinating, sure, but not useful. She pushes down the surge of annoyance, of frustration, that rises in her throat.

There's the sound of someone — Henry, almost certainly — tripping over something, not far from the room, and Theta realizes that it's probably time for her to go. On a whim, she takes a few of the readouts from the very bottom of the stack, doing her best to arrange them as if nothing's changed. Then she eyes the window on the far wall of the bedroom. It's certainly large enough to fit through, and she's on the first floor, so it won't be much of a drop. Trying to leave through the back door in the kitchen might be risky, and thus, it's her best option.

Folding the readouts up and tucking them into her trouser pocket, Theta walks over to the window to start inching it open. The blast of cold air that floods the room is unpleasant, and she feels her teeth chatter as she continues to shove the window up.

Finally, it's open wide enough for her to slip out, rolling somewhat ungracefully onto the cobblestones outside. Her back aches, her knees are probably bruised, and her lockpicks are digging into her leg again. She stands, brushes herself off, and tugs the window back to being closed; gently, so as not to be heard.

"I'll admit, this is a bit of a surprise."

The sound of a voice makes her yelp and whirl around, scrambling away from the window. There, standing in the street and smirking, is…

"Wait, alleyway man?"

The smirk drops to a scowl. But, sure enough, it's the same man that Theta had seen all those weeks ago in the alley - purple suit and all. He is, rather annoyingly, just as handsome as she'd remembered.

"What are you doing here?" she demands. An awful idea occurs to her. "Are you working with those people?"

He looks offended by the mere thought. "Those unsophisticated excuses for telepathic parasites? Goodness, no. I just need some of their equipment."

"Why?" Theta asks. "Wait, you know what it's for?"

"Of course I do," he says, somewhat smug. "But how, in any way, does that concern _you?_ "

"I'm investigating them," she replies. "They're up to something."

An extremely patronizing chuckle, which is just as unfairly attractive as the rest of him, bubbles up. "You're a regular UNIT lackey, aren't you? This makes twice I've seen you poking around things that'll get you killed."

"What do you care?" she snaps. "You threatened to kill me yourself, the first time. Not like you're trying to help."

"Oh, I don't care. But you seem…" He tilts his head, as if searching for the right word. "Entertaining."

"Gee, thanks," Theta mutters. "Any chance you'll tell me who those people are and what they're doing, so that I can get something useful out of this conversation?"

"And ruin your little adventure? Perish the thought." The man smiles. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Or get yourself killed. One or the other, surely."

He steps closer, and she instinctively steps back, until he's at the window and she's several steps away. In one smooth motion, he pushes the window up again, and begins hoisting himself up into it. Theta is adamantly _not_ looking.

"My name's Theta, by the way," she calls, feeling just a little waspish. "Since you asked so politely."

The man stops, teeters somewhat unsteadily in his position on the windowsill, and promptly falls back out onto the street. When he pulls himself back onto his feet, his eyes are wide and fixed on her with a frightening intensity. It's as though a switch has been flipped — one moment, he couldn't care less about her, and now she feels the weight of his gaze like a physical thing.

"Theta?" he echoes. "Are you _sure?_ "

She raises an eyebrow. "I think I know my own name, thanks. What's yours?"

This time, when he steps closer, she can't move away, held in place by some instinct just as deep as the ones that had urged her to come here in the first place. He's nearly touching her when he stops, eyes flickering over her face like he's both committing it to memory and trying to place it. It's unnerving and comforting all at once; there's an adoration to the way his hand raises, ever so slightly, as if it wants to brush against her face, but she doesn't know _why._

"Oh," he breathes. " _Oh._ "

"Your name is O?" Theta looks at him, incredulous.

He blinks, as though he hadn't heard her, the intense longing in his eyes dampening. "What?"

"I asked you your name, and you said 'O'," she says.

"Hardly the worst I've gone by," he shrugs. "Sure, I'll be O."

"Well, what do you need their equipment for, O?" she asks, confidence somewhat restored now that she's seen him fall out of a window. Somehow, that just takes away some of the intrigue and mystique. "What does it do? You said telepathic — like, brain stuff? Wait, did they eat their hosts' brains and that's why they need Theo?"

"Something I can't explain to you, see above, yes, probably," O replies. "In that order."

Theta narrows her eyes. "Why can't you explain?"

"Because," he says, smiling infuriatingly.

And then he turns and begins climbing into the window again, somewhat less gracefully but quicker than before. This time, Theta does watch. Just in case he falls again, of course. Sadly, she isn't so lucky. He drops into the room with a soft thud, and then she hears the sounds of scraping as he does… something.

Curious, she steps closer to the window, going on tiptoes to peer inside. O is shoving one of the machines towards the window, which explains the ear-rending screech of metal gouging into wood. It's _definitely_ audible from the rest of the house, and Theta feels a sudden and unexpected pang of worry in her chest. He may be baffling, somewhat annoying, and an overall enigma, but despite that — or perhaps because of it — she doesn't want him dead, or possessed by those parasites, as he'd called them.

"You might want to be quieter," she points out. "They're going to hear."

O shrugs, and Theta decides that if he dies, he dies. She doesn't even know why she's so worried about him. They've met a grand total of twice, and on one of those occasions he threatened to kill her. It makes no sense.

Sure enough, moments later, the bedroom door begins to creak open. He seems unbothered, continuing to push the machine towards the window. When the father steps through, cold eyes fixing on O, Theta ducks down below the windowsill. As much as she told herself she doesn't care, she can't quite bear to just _leave,_ but neither can she bring herself to watch.

There's a small, sharp noise, like a sudden gust of air, and then the thud of something heavy — a body, her mind helpfully provides — hitting the hardwood. Before she can stop herself, Theta stands up and looks in. Flat on the ground in the doorway is the father, and O is tucking something back into his jacket pocket.

"What did you do?" she demands.

He looks up, raising an eyebrow. "I'd have thought it would be obvious."

"Well, it _looks_ like you just killed him!" Theta snaps.

"You really are dull as a human," he mutters, barely audible. Then, louder, "He isn't dead, just the parasite in his brain. He'll wake up in a few hours with a headache and no memory of the past week. Stop worrying."

That isn't nearly as reassuring as he seems to think it should be. He took offense not at the idea of having killed someone, but at her own misunderstanding of what he had done. It's unsettling, in a way. But oddly, not unfamiliar.

Before he's finished shoving the machine over to the window, the wife gets the same treatment - or so Theta assumes, because she still can't make herself look. Either way, the both of them are unconscious, she hopes, on the floor.

O's nearly to the window when Theta hears footsteps and turns. There, coming down the alley, is Henry.

"What are you still doing here?" he asks. "The plan was to meet back where we split up, yeah?"

It hits Theta that he must have been waiting — he doesn't know the two victims are unconscious, and he doesn't know about O. She panics, just a little; she doesn't want to scare him, or have O scare him.

"Yeah, sorry, I was just, uh…" She scrambles for an excuse. "I hit my back getting out of the window. You can go on ahead, it's probably smarter to split up now anyhow."

Henry looks at her in a way that makes it abundantly clear he's not buying it. "Right."

"Look, really, I'm fine. I'll just close the window and you can go," she says, trying to smile.

She reaches up, preparing to pull the window shut, and finds herself nearly nose to nose with O. A flush rises on her cheeks without her permission; she does her best to ignore it. With a tiny shake of her head, she tries to signal that he should get back inside. Thankfully, he mostly looks amused, and ducks his head back down without making it harder than it needs to be.

Perhaps a bit too violently, Theta closes the window, then turns to Henry. "See? Just fine. Let's go!"

Still giving her a suspicious look, he starts heading back out of the alley. She follows a few steps behind, glancing back over her shoulder every couple steps to see if the window opens again. Theta isn't sure what she's afraid of happening, but O's blase approach to the concept of murder and the fact that he only seemed to change his mind about murdering _her_ after recognizing her — or whatever it was that had happened when she'd told him her name — has her worried.

When they reach the street proper, she can't help a small sigh of relief.

"Really, Henry, you can head back," she says. "I've got a few errands to run. Thank you for… doing this. I've got the information I need now."

He pats her on the shoulder. "I'd say I was happy to help, but that was honestly the most nerve-wracking thing I think I've ever done. Good luck, Wright."

"Thank you," she smiles. "I think I'm going to need it."

Henry chuckles, gives her shoulder another pat, and then walks off. Theta gives it nearly a minute before turning around and ducking back behind the row of houses.

She knocks tentatively on the window, and it slides up almost immediately. O looks out at her, still seeming mostly amused.

"Is your little friend gone, then?" he asks, smirking. "And you still decided to come back?"

"You know what's going on," she says. "I want you to tell me."

He sighs, somewhat indulgently. "I already did. Telepathic parasites, feeding on those poor little humans, and I've generously gotten rid of them because it was more convenient. Understand?"

"No! What do you mean, telepathic parasites? And why are you saying 'humans' like you aren't one?"

"Oh, look at that, you finally got there!" he grins. "Because I'm not. Now, care to help me steal this very useful piece of technology, or will I need to haul it out this window myself?"

The petty, contrary part of her wants to just leave him. But, despite her misgivings, she's intrigued — entranced — by O, and though everything he's saying is outlandish… it feels right. Even though she feels like she's been dropped into the middle of a story, no clue of who the characters are or what the rules are meant to be, she isn't truly surprised to learn that non-human sentient creatures exist, or that O himself is one. It's like putting together the perpetually broken radiator; every piece falls neatly into place to form the whole, even if it takes a bit of elbow grease to make it all make sense.

"Fine," Theta sighs.

He smiles, then disappears from her line of sight. A moment later, the machine appears in the window. It's just barely small enough to fit through the window, and she can see it wiggle closer as O pushes it out. After a moment, it begins to teeter closer.

"Don't drop it," O warns.

Theta rolls her eyes and takes the machine by the bottom, supporting it. It's heavy — heavier than its small size would indicate — but nothing she can't handle, not after countless hours at the factory. She pulls it the rest of the way out of the window, then sets it gently on the ground, out of the way.

A moment later, O wriggles back out of the window, landing much more elegantly than Theta had. He brushes himself off and grins at her.

"Now, this needs to get back to my ship, so I do hope you don't mind carrying it," he says.

She raises her eyebrows. "I am not carrying this thing to the Thames."

"Not that kind of ship," he says, as though it should have been obvious.

"Where is it, then?"

He starts walking down the alley, the opposite way from the entrance Theta and Henry had used. He does not, at any point, actually tell her where he's going. With a sigh and a glare directed at his back, she picks up the machine and follows him.

When he gets to the end of the alley, he stops in front of a small newspaper cart, the kind that sells cheap cigarettes and cheaper news. It's empty, not even newspapers on the counter, and Theta doesn't think she would have noticed it if it weren't for the attention O is paying it. He pats it four times on the counter, then steps around the back of it, where it presses up against the building, and disappears. Theta blinks and nearly drops the machine in her arms.

A moment later, O's head pokes back out. "Are you coming or not?"

Still completely baffled, Theta walks up to the cart. She looks over the counter, and sees nothing behind it. She checks the other side, and sees nothing. Finally, feeling extremely foolish, she squeezes through the tiny gap between the cart and the building, turning sideways to fit with the machine.

Instead of the cramped space behind the cart that she expected, Theta finds herself in an ornate room, almost like a ballroom done up for a masquerade. Dark hardwood floors gleam beneath her feet in the light of twinkling chandeliers, a pair of curling staircases lead to the upper level that seems to be home to a pillar of dark glass and jagged black metal that stretches into the invisibly high ceiling, and the whole place feels ethereal; some dark faerie king's castle, some cruel warlock's tower, some beast's palace. She falls just a little in love.

As calmly as she can manage, she sets the machine lightly down on the floor, and then turns around to look out the doors — massive, heavy-looking double doors of the same wood as the floor and staircases — to make sure she's not hallucinating. Sure enough, just outside is the street she just walked off of. Hesitantly, she takes a step towards them. As much as she wants to see if this is real, she's terrified that it may not be, that it might all disappear if she leaves.

"Yes, it's bigger on the inside," O drawls. "And yes, it is disguised as a newspaper cart. It does that automatically."

Theta whirls, startled by his voice, to see him leaning lazily on the bannister of the left staircase. She's fairly sure that he hadn't been there a moment ago, but she had been so caught up in the beauty of this place that she very well could have missed him.

"It's amazing," she breathes. "What is this place?"

"My ship," he says, and she could swear that he _preens_ as he does. His hands straighten the lapels of his coat in a way that certainly reminds her of a proud raven. "It can travel anywhere in time and space."

"You're joking."

Again with that unfairly attractive smirk. "I'm really not. I would prove it to you, but… I don't do joyrides, and I have more important things to do."

He strolls over, picks the machine up, and begins carrying it up the stairs. From the ease with which he lifts it, Theta begins to acquire a creeping suspicion that he only made her carry it for his own entertainment. She follows him up, sliding her hand along the smooth, polished wood of the bannister just to feel it squeak slightly beneath her fingers.

"So, will you tell me what you need that thing for, now?" she asks. "Since you made me carry it all the way over here?"

As he sets it down near the pillar — which isn't _just_ a pillar, but is ringed with what look like controls; all manner of switches and buttons and dials, screens like those on the machines but sleeker, wonderful things that Theta wants to run her hands over — he sighs.

"Fine," he says. "I'm going to use it to track tears in interdimensional space in search of what I hypothesize to be denizens of another dimension attempting to use humans as a biological microchip to contain their equivalent of DNA. Does that help?"

Though she doesn't know what half of those words mean, Theta nods her head just to be contrary. "Yes, thank you."

O laughs. "Oh, you never change, do you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demands. "You say that like you know me, but I've only met you the once before today."

"Nothing. It doesn't mean anything." His amusement fades in an instant, smile dropping and eyes going dark. "You have places to be, don't you?"

"I'm not leaving until I get answers," Theta says, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well, I hope you like it here, then. Because it's none of your business."

"It clearly is! You fell out of a window when I told you my name, and you keep talking like you know more about me than you should, and I think that makes it my business."

"You forfeited the right to answers from me when you did this," he snaps, standing to his full height and stepping closer, anger written on every line of his face.

She plants her feet and looks him in the eye. "When I did _what?_ I don't know what you're talking about!"

He laughs again, but it's bitter and cruel. "No, of course you don't. Get out of my ship, Theta."

When he says her name, his voice nearly breaks, sadness and hurt deeper than she can comprehend welling up in the cracks. It makes her heart ache, and some part of her wants to comfort him. The rest is growing annoyed.

"You don't get to just- just storm into my life acting like you know me, and then refuse to tell me anything!" She's not quite sure when she started shouting, but she doesn't plan to stop. "That's not fair!"

"Do you really think the universe cares about _fair?_ Is it _fair_ that I-" He cuts himself off with a shake of his head and another bitter laugh. "You know, it's almost ironic. Now you're willing to hear me out, but if you're in this state then _clearly_ you must not have been before."

Theta nearly screams with frustration. "What does that _mean?_ "

"It means that you're a coward, just like you always have been," O snarls. "Now _get out of my ship._ "

There's a power underlying his words, urging her to listen. It whispers about how much more sense it would make to just leave, and doesn't she have to meet with Victor? There's no reason to stay and keep fighting.

Theta grits her teeth and glares. "Stop _doing_ that with your voice!"

He steps closer, and Theta can't help the urge from somewhere in the back of her mind that never lost its prey instincts to back up, and back up, and back up, until she's against the railing of the second level. The wood digs into her spine, trapping her. Despite being almost the same height, when he has her cornered like this, O feels much, much taller.

As he reaches out a hand, she flinches back, but there's nowhere _back_ to go any more. His fingers are gentle as they settle against her temple, and before she can do anything to react — shout at him, or slap his hand away — an overwhelming blanket of calm hits her. She can't move, can't even blink, can only stare into his deep, endless eyes.

"You're not going to remember this," he says, his voice low and soothing like waves against a shore, and Theta thinks she could drown in it. "Not until you come back to yourself. Not until you're the Doctor again. After I told you what I intend to use the machine for, you remembered that you needed to leave, and... you asked if you could come back tomorrow to see more of my ship. Understood?"

She nods, feeling like it isn't her that's controlling her motions. "Yes."

"Good." He runs his fingers slowly down from her temple until his hand cradles her cheek. Soft, so light that she can barely feel it — or maybe that's just the floaty feeling suffusing her entire body — he runs his thumb over the ridge of her cheekbone. Then his hand pulls back, and if she could move any part of her she would lean forward to chase the touch. "Wake up now, love."

Theta blinks, suddenly dizzy. Her head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton and air, everything gone loose and weird at the edges, and something is digging into her back.

"What happened?" she asks, shaking her head to try to clear it.

O looks back at her, his expression unreadable. "You said you felt a bit faint, and I think you passed out for a second there."

That… sounds right. Maybe. It's never happened before, but with everything, she'd just been too overwhelmed. Yes, that's probably it.

"Right," Theta says, still a bit unsteady. "Well, I need to go… meet a friend. Will you still be here tomorrow?"

He grins toothily. "I'll make sure of it."

"Great!" She smiles. "I'll see you then. Can't wait to see what else is in here."

Gripping the bannister for support, she makes her way down the stairs, back to those elegant double doors. Before stepping out into the London streets, she turns and waves at O, and tries to ignore the way her heart leaps when he waves back.

Then she's out, standing on the cobblestones in front of a boring building, and the exterior of O's ship just looks like a newspaper cart again; no indication of the wonders it hides within given away by the boring, forgettable mask it wears. Though she doesn't really know why, Theta gives the counter a pat as she turns to head back down the alleyway. She imagines that she can feel the wood pulse under her touch like a living thing as she does.

  
  


When she gets to the train station, it's later than she'd expected by nearly fifteen minutes. Usually, her sense of time is fairly accurate, but she supposes she must have gotten too caught up in O's ship to realize how long she'd been in there. Still, she's five minutes early to meet with Victor — not that they'd set a proper time, but it had been around six when they'd been here three days ago — so she sits down on the same bench and waits.

As it so often does, her mind wanders, back to O's ship and what other mysteries it could hold. If it can conceal an entire ballroom inside of a newspaper cart, then surely something more wouldn't be a stretch. Hidden passageways, rooms dedicated to alien art, all manner of things that she can't wait to explore. She can already tell that she's going to be thoroughly distracted the rest of the day, anxious to return and see more.

Victor sits down next to her, eyes darting nervously through the crowd and foot bouncing on the ground, forcing Theta back into reality.

"Did you go to see Theo's parents?" he asks, barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, I did. Definitely weird, very not good, but I took care of it," she replies. "They should be back to normal now. A, uh, friend helped me handle it."

Victor frowns. "Are you sure?"

"Trust me." Right now, she really doesn't want to get into the details — most of which she still doesn't understand herself — so she tries a reassuring smile and pats Victor lightly on the shoulder. "Theo should be safe to go back home."

"But what was wrong with them?"

"They were… hypnotized," she says. Somehow, the word just feels right. "It's a long story. But they're fine, I promise."

Though he still looks dubious, Victor doesn't ask any more questions. "I guess I'll tell Theo he can go home, then. Thank you, miss."

He stands, turns as if he's going to say something more, then shakes his head and leaves. Theta knows she should probably be getting home, but she can't quite bring herself to move from the bench yet. She completely understands his hesitation to believe what she says is true — it still feels a little surreal to her. Somehow, in the span of only three days, she's gone from not having the faintest clue of what could be going on there, to… well, still being confused about it, but having dealt with it. Sort of. It all feels so abrupt, so sudden, so _fast._ Like a fever dream or a mirage, there one moment and gone the next, except this one isn't gone yet, not fully.

With a sigh, Theta stands. Fever dream or no, she still needs to get home, eat dinner, and get some sleep. It's been a long day, and she's tired.

  
  


She wakes up gasping from her dreams the next morning, though it's early enough to still be night for most reasonable people. It had been- red grass, light refracted off of an invisible bubble surrounding a magical city, a hand in hers, and the city was in ruins but that hand was still holding hers, leading her through the rubble to the blackened heart of it all; corrupted, like a sickness needing to be cut out or cauterized, but even that hadn't been enough to erase the crimes committed. Her head throbs painfully as she takes a deep breath in.

Theta makes herself some tea and sits on her sofa as she drinks it, trying not to think about the dreams. Trying not to think about how the hand she'd imagined in hers felt so familiar. At some point, she thinks she dozes off, because the next thing she's aware of is the light of the sun spilling over the floor like paint. She wonders what the appropriate time is to visit an alien who lives in a magical ship-that-is-not-a-ship, then decides that time probably doesn't mean much when you can travel in it.

When she gets dressed, Theta wouldn't say that she does herself up. She just makes sure that her hair looks good, and that the blouse she picks goes well with her trousers — she spends nearly five minutes debating between trousers and a skirt, before figuring that women wearing trousers is probably much more common in the future and there's no reason to compromise her own comfort just to impress someone. Not that she's trying to impress O.

Finally, after one last look in the mirror to make absolutely certain that she looks fine, she pulls her coat on and leaves the flat. It's not as though spending all day worrying about her appearance is going to do any good, she tells herself as she walks to the train station.

Regardless, she spends most of the train ride surreptitiously running one hand through her hair — down, since she won't be working, held back from her face only by a small pair of clips — to make sure that it's still well-brushed. She doesn't think she's ever been this nervous before.

It's a relief to get out of the crowded train station and onto the streets, because at least then she can burn off some of the excitement twisting in her stomach by walking faster than she strictly needs to. Not that it helps much; by the time she reaches the newspaper cart, the butterflies that have taken up residence inside of her have started gnawing their way out, up through to her heart.

Theta takes a steadying breath, knocks four times on the counter of the cart like she'd seen O do, and then steps into the small sliver of space between the cart and the wall. For half a second, her eyes closed with something between hope and fear, she almost expects to find nothing. The newscart will be just that, and O will be gone, and she'll have to go back to her normal life like she had the first time she'd met him. But it had been easy to forget the light, after a time. This, she doesn't think she'll be able to forget.

And then she opens her eyes, and it's exactly as wonderful as she remembered. The chandeliers, the staircases, the almost dreamlike beauty of the place. She can't help a tiny gasp, even though she knew what to expect.

O isn't anywhere to be seen, it seems, and Theta is reluctant to try to go deeper into this mesmerizing ship without a guide. So, she explores the lower level of this room, taking in all the intricate details she'd missed the day before. The walls are smooth to the touch but marked with intricate rings of circles, almost _purring_ beneath her hand like a contented cat. There seems to be a preference for purple in the decor, from the drapes that cover windows with a view of the stars, to the insets in the wood of the doors that appear periodically along the walls. She doesn't dare open any of them, but she trails her fingers over the circular patterns as she walks.

"You let yourself in," says O, and Theta startles and turns to see him behind her.

He smirks, and she scowls.

"You're making a bad habit of surprising me like that, you know," she snaps.

"And you seem to already have one of breaking and entering. What a pair we make."

"I did knock," she protests. "And your ship let me in."

O sighs. "Well, it does seem to like you."

Theta tries not to be flattered by that.

"So, you said there were other rooms in here?" she asks, glancing at the door next to her.

"Oh, hundreds." He steps past her, close enough he almost brushes his arm against hers, and pushes the door open to reveal a long corridor. "Where do you want to start?"

It takes her a moment to pick her jaw up off the floor and compose herself somewhat. "Is there a library?"

"Of course," O says. "Come on then, Thete- Theta."

She barely notices the tiny slip, too busy imagining what a library in this place would look like. Bookshelves to the ceiling, full of volumes that don't exist yet or haven't existed for centuries, works of literature from other planets, other _galaxies._ It's only when O takes her hand that she blinks and snaps out of it.

"The halls can get confusing," he explains. "Don't want you wandering off and finding something… dangerous."

That catches her interest. "Dangerous like what?"

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Do you have alien animals on here that'll eat people?" she asks. "Do you build death machines in your spare time? Come on, dangerous like _what?_ "

"Not at the moment, and yes, sometimes," O replies. "But I'd rather not have you messing with them."

Well, if she didn't want an answer, she shouldn't have asked. She isn't that surprised that he's got mysterious and nefarious machines lying around, but she is a tad disappointed that they're apparently off limits. But if that's the price Theta has to pay to explore this amazing place, somehow she doesn't think she'll mind too much. Holding his hand is… rather nice, honestly. Familiar, like they're just meant to fit together, his fingers interlacing hers.

As he leads her down the hall, she asks, "Is there a workshop, too?"

"A few. What for?"

"Metalworking, mostly," Theta says. "But there's so many other things I've wanted to try. Electricity, difference engines, and I've always wanted to try clockwork. You know, I live above a shop that sells watches, but I've never actually made one before. Well, I say live, but recently-"

O stops dead, and his hand tightens sharply around hers. He whirls, meeting her eyes with an abrupt intensity almost like he'd had when she'd told him her name. The corridor suddenly feels very, very small.

"Do you own a pocket watch?" he demands. "Old, probably broken, you never use it but it's been sitting around some drawer for as long as you can remember?"

Startled, Theta pulls her hand out of his grasp. "No! Why, what's so important about that?"

His shoulders slump and his eyes flit away from hers. He almost looks guilty, achingly sad.

"It's not," O mutters. "It's not important at all. Come on."

He starts down the hall, but freezes when Theta takes his hand again. She stills as well, not sure what drove her to do that. Or, no; she knows _exactly_ what drove her to do that, but there's no way she's admitting that his hand in hers feels like the missing piece of a part of her she didn't know was broken.

"You said you didn't want me wandering off," she points out, with a soft smile. "I'm very prone to that. Probably best if you keep holding my hand, just in case."

O doesn't return the smile, but his eyes lose some of the mournful darkness that had taken up residence there. When Theta gives his hand a squeeze, he squeezes back. Together, they keep walking, deeper into the corridors of the ship.

Eventually, they reach a door, utterly indistinguishable from the others to Theta, though O seems to be able to tell them apart easily. He shoots her a mischievous grin and pushes it open. Theta's pretty sure she stops breathing at some point as she looks inside.

The library is exactly as wonderful as she'd imagined, from the towering shelves to the sturdy tables scattered throughout and well-stocked with note-taking supplies. Tall rolling ladders are affixed to the shelves that stretch so far she can't see the end of them, and the rainbow of spines that fill each level is simply astounding.

"It's beautiful," she gasps.

Like he had when she'd complimented his ship, O gives a proud little tug to the lapels of his jacket, straightening it unnecessarily.

"This is just my personal collection," he says. "But please, feel free to look around."

She wants to — she doesn't know if she's ever wanted anything more — but Theta has other plans.

"What about those workshops?" she asks. "Not that this isn't amazing, but I want to see everything before I pick one place to spend the day."

He sighs, but it's with a smile on his lips. "Humans. Never satisfied, are you?"

"Oi! I resent that."

"I'm sure you do," O laughs. "Fine, I'll show you one of my workshops."

As he offers her his hand once more, Theta tries not to think too hard about how odd a situation this is. She's in a ship that travels the stars and can fit infinitudes within it, being given a guided tour by its captain, who is probably the most handsome man she's ever met — and, yes, he did admittedly threaten to kill her the first time they met and outright said that he builds weapons of mass destruction, but he doesn't _feel_ dangerous anymore. Not to her, at least; not since she told him her name and his entire demeanour changed. She still doesn't understand what's going on with that, but for now she's willing to ignore it and just enjoy exploring the ship.

O leads her deeper into the twisting, winding corridors, through a maze of turns that Theta couldn't even dream of keeping track of. Somewhere along the way, the walls changed from smooth, dark grey stone to polished metal, and the air's gotten warmer as they go.

"We're close to the heart of my ship," he explains, right after Theta thinks that. "The engines, as you would put it."

"Can I see them?" she asks, wide eyed. "What sort of engine does this even run on?"

"You've at least heard of black holes before, haven't you?" When she nods, he continues. "Imagine one of those, caught just as it's about to form, compressed into the tiniest possible space, and contained."

Theta shakes her head. "That's not even possible!"

"Oh, it is. It very much is. Tricky, yes, but possible," he grins. "And really, I've given you the simplified version. The mechanics of it were always-" He stops, shakes his head, and continues. "They're tricky to explain if you aren't a Time Lord."

Something about those words _resonates_ through Theta like a bell being rung, her very bones shivering. They're familiar, another piece of the puzzle she's been trying so hard to put together from all of her half-remembered dreams and faint memories.

"Is that what your species is called? Time Lords?" She scrunches her nose. "Bit pretentious, isn't it?"

O's eyes flicker through a kaleidoscope of emotions — sadness, anger, _grief_ — before he masks it with a smile and a clearly forced laugh. "More than a bit. The workshop is this way."

It's a clear attempt to distract her, but Theta can't even begin to wonder why. Maybe he's like her; family is a sensitive subject. After all, there's got to be a reason why he's on Earth, instead of with other Time Lords.

He turns down another branching hallway, and Theta follows. They're only a few doors into the hall when O stops in front of a door, opening it.

Her reaction isn't quite as dramatic as it had been to the library, but Theta can feel herself smiling just from looking at the room. It's mostly neat, though with the slightly chaotic organization of someone who doesn't always have time to put things away in the most logical place. The workbenches are covered in all sorts of projects that she wants to touch, and it's only by sheer force of will that she keeps her hands in her pockets and not on all of the fascinating wires and delicate machinery.

"Definitely glad I came here before settling on the library," she breathes. "O, this is- this is the sort of place I've always dreamed of! Okay, not really, my dreams tend to be really weird, but you know what I mean."

O smiles. "Glad that you approve."

"Can I…?"

"Of course."

  
  


Theta spends _hours_ in the workshop, fawning over O's equipment and projects. He's patient, willing to explain the basics of all sorts of new concepts — the delicate uses of electricity, the miniaturized computing machines and how they function, and much to her delight, the usage of the variety of easily portable tools he has. Hardly the most exciting thing available, but she's almost tempted to sneak some of them out of the ship when she leaves.

It's only after nearly five hours, by her count, that she reluctantly stops him from teaching her how to use something called a 3D printer.

"I'd love to," she explains quickly. "But we've been here quite a while, and I-"

"Yes, of course, you have some petty human job to attend to," O sighs. "I do hope this was as exciting as you expected it to be. I'll still be scanning for interdimensional tears, so I might be here for a few more days, if you're so inclined."

Though he sounds calm, his shoulders have stiffened and he's suddenly so much more formal than he had been a moment ago. Like he's bracing for something, expecting her to leave.

"I'm hungry."

O blinks. "You're what?"

"Hungry," she repeats. "It's been hours since I ate breakfast, O, and I don't know about Time Lords, but humans need to eat fairly regularly. I'm not ready to leave, yet, and it's the weekend. I'm not working. Just ready for lunch."

She tries so, so hard not to react to the open relief on his face at that, the intense adoration that borders on discomforting. He collects himself quickly, straightening his shoulders and running a hand through his hair as if that will make any difference to the somewhat unkempt mess that seems to be its natural state.

"Right. Well, I've never understood the Earth week," he says. "Would you like to see one of the kitchens, then?"

"There's kitchens?" Theta can't keep the bafflement out of her tone. "Can't your ship just… create food?"

He'd shown her one of the machines to do so earlier, explaining that it was broken, but there were plenty of backups.

O waves a hand dismissively. "Basic things, sure. But if you want _good_ food, you've got to make it yourself."

"And you do?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Everyone needs a hobby," he replies with a smile.

Theta rolls her eyes, but doesn't say more. She washes her hands quickly, getting rid of the grease and oil clinging to her skin, then lets him take her hand and guide her back out through the winding catacombs of his ship.

  
  


The kitchen they end up at isn't far from the workshop. It's all shiny, sleek metal and white marble counters, and it makes Theta's eyes hurt a little bit to look at it all. O leads her in, gesturing for her to lean against one of the counters as he begins pulling out various dishes and ingredients.

When Theta cooks, it's always been more for practicality than taste. She knows how to make a few things, and they're all _edible,_ but she's never had the budget or the time to experiment much beyond the basics. Watching O put together something so fancy is somewhat surreal, and a little bit awkward. She's just standing there watching as he cooks, and it's hard not to dwell on how very one-sided all of this feels.

He's done so much for her, just in the short span of time she's known him, and she's done next to nothing. She carried a piece of machinery that he could have easily moved himself, and that's the extent of it. Meanwhile, he's shown her around his wonderful, magnificent ship, and he's taught her all sorts of information from the future, and now he's making her lunch. Theta can't help but wonder when the other shoe will drop.

"Theta?" His voice pulls her out of her thoughts, and she tries not to startle too obviously. "The food's nearly done."

"Sorry, zoned out for a minute there," she says, shaking her head slightly to clear it.

O nods in understanding. "There's a dining room right next door. Go sit, I'll bring the food in."

"Are you sure? I can carry something," Theta offers.

"I'm sure," he replies.

Though she almost wants to offer again, just so that she can feel like she's doing _something_ to help, Theta decides not to press the issue. It's just one more favor she'll be expected to repay.

She steps out of the kitchen, almost blinded from the sharp change from the reflective brightness to the dimmer, softer light of the corridor, and turns to the closest door. Though she has no way of telling, she's fairly sure it's the dining room. As her hand closes around the doorknob, she feels it hum slightly under her touch.

When she opens the door, it's not quite what she'd expected. Not the sort of ornate table that she would find in a rich man's home, perhaps, or a dramatically long hall out of some gothic novel. Instead, it's small, almost intimate, the table just big enough for the two of them — still ornate, but in a dark, candlelit way. It feels almost… romantic, though surely that's mere wishful thinking on her part. He lives alone, it makes sense that he wouldn't need a large table for everyday meals. That must be it.

Feeling a little out of place — and maybe she _should_ have worn a skirt, maybe that would have helped her feel more comfortable with such finery — Theta sits down in one of the chairs and waits. Her fingers tap nervously on the tabletop, her leg bounces up and down, and she comes close to standing up and going to see what's happening in the kitchen half a dozen times before she hears O's footsteps.

She twists around in her seat, regretting picking the one facing away from the door, and watches as O brings in two plates of steak. Or, at least, that's what she assumes it is; for all that she knows, it could be something entirely alien that just happens to resemble steak. Either way, it's probably a little excessive for a lunch. But then, O seems to be a somewhat excessive person.

He sets both plates on the table and sits down across from Theta. At some point between when she'd last seen the table and when she turns around again, it's materialized proper place settings. Given some of the strange things that she's seen over the past two days, she decides not to question it.

"Thank you. For making this, and for showing me around, and for letting me see your workshop. Today has been lovely. So far, I mean," Theta adds, hoping the low light will hide the warmth she feels creeping up her cheeks. "Not that I expect that to change!"

"You're welcome," O smiles.

To stop herself from saying anything more embarrassing, Theta takes a bite of the probably-steak. Whatever it actually is, it's delicious. Though she's not certain that the fork and knife she's using are the correct ones — there's three forks, and she has no clue what the difference between them is — O doesn't say anything, and she decides to just act confident, even though she doesn't feel it.

_He_ knows what fork to use, she's sure. He knows all sorts of things that Theta never will, and she just can't understand why he's even bothering to do all of this. It just doesn't make any sense. If he wanted to kill her, which she keeps forgetting is a very real possibility, then why drag it out like this and make her feel special, like he actually cares for some inexplicable reason?

They both eat in relative silence, until Theta can't take it anymore and blurts, "What are you getting out of this?"

O blinks. She keeps talking, before he can say anything.

"You've been doing all of this for me, and I'm not trying to be ungrateful, but I just… I don't understand why. I want to know what you're expecting in return."

The silence that fills the room, perfectly still but for Theta's too-loud breath and the pounding of her heart in her ears, is deafening. When O laughs, a sharp and unwelcoming thing, she flinches.

"I don't know." He shakes his head, cruel amusement still written in the twist of his lips. "I really don't know. At first, I thought that- but no. And you're not…" The words trail off into silence.

"Not what?"

"I can't tell you, and that's the irony of it all. There's so much you don't know about y- about everything, and I can't tell you any of it." O sighs, the almost manic look fading from his eyes. "So, Theta, that's what I'm getting out of this. Your presence and your time is enough."

And somehow, that leaves her even more confused than before. At least when she'd thought he was after something _normal,_ she had known how to handle it; even if the thought of him only spending time with her so that he could kill her hurt worse than any knife he could have slipped between her ribs. Now, though… how is she supposed to handle this functionally unconditional — she doesn't even know what to call it. Affection, adoration, devotion? Some overwhelming and terrifying mix of all of them that scares her more than she wants to admit?

It truly is terrifying, on some level. He's something that she can't comprehend, compressing himself into an approximation of humanity in hopes that she'll reciprocate the depths of the feelings he seems to have for her. Theta wonders if this is what it feels like to be loved by a god. Distant and yet so intense, on such a scale that she feels almost insignificant. She knows, with a sudden and fearful certainty, that he would burn planets for her if she asked.

"How do you know me?" she asks, barely above a whisper. "Why are you doing this? Why- why do you care about me so much?"

His face twists for a moment, an indescribable emotion flickering across it before he settles into something akin to grief. It makes some tiny part of her in the back of her mind, the rational part that's been pointing out how insane all of this is, prickle in warning. As though she hasn't already figured out that this is dangerous, that she's playing with fire that just happens to be choosing not to burn her. As though she could stop, even if she wanted to.

"If you ask me again, I'll tell you," he says softly. "But trust me, Theta, you do not want to know. It will ruin this life you've been living, and it will mean that this, all of this, can never happen again. Or we can pretend that this conversation never happened, and the rest of this day can be happy."

She remembers the first time they met, in the alleyway next to that abandoned department store. How he'd threatened to kill her if she kept interfering, and how she'd gone back to look again regardless. How, if things had gone wrong then, he very easily would have followed through on that threat. Even then, after just a few minutes, she'd known that. This won't be any different. If she asks, he will tell her, and this tentative — at least on her part — spark growing between them will be destroyed.

Looking into his eyes, how they look dark in the dim lighting, like the black hole that powers this ship, how even still she can see the honesty in them, Theta takes a soft, shuddering breath in. She can feel her heart racing like she's just run a marathon, can hear blood pounding in her ears even though she hasn't even gotten up from her seat.

"If I want to, will you let me leave?"

"Of course," he replies. Eyes softer, now, still terrifyingly dark but not quite as fearful.

It's not much — she only has his word to trust that he won't do something awful to her — but it helps. She's not even afraid that he'll deliberately hurt her, but… he's not human, and she can only imagine that if the concept of a week poses confusion to him, then her mortality must be even more strange. Theta's crushed ants before, trying to move them to safety. She doesn't want to be crushed.

Theta's curious; of course she is, how could she not be when everything about him makes her want to know more? But as much as she wants to ask, as much as she wants to find out just what it is that created such a destructive _need_ in him, she doesn't think she can. She wants this almost as much as he needs it. She wants _him._

"Okay. I won't- I won't ask again."

He relaxes so immediately, she's briefly afraid that he's fainted. Then he straightens, runs a hand through his hair, and stands.

"You wanted to learn how to use the 3D printer, didn't you?" he asks, brightly, as though mere seconds ago he hadn't been on the verge of something dark and deep and horrible. Not that Theta really blames him — there's no good way to move from such a serious topic other than forced levity, not in this case.

She takes his hand and lets him lead her back to the workshop.

  
  


Theta smiles, tossing the tiny and shockingly light model of a plane up and down in the air. It had taken her a while to figure out how to work the strange computing device that created the blueprints for the printer, even with O's help, but the delight of watching it build something she had designed from the bottom up was indescribable.

After another toss, she catches it in her hand and tucks it carefully in one pocket, then turns to O. "Do you know what time it is?"

Instead of pulling out a watch or some fantastic bit of technology, O tilts his head, closes his eyes for a moment, and then says, "You've been here for eight hours, twelve minutes, and forty-six seconds."

"You can just tell?" Theta asks, somewhat awed. Her own sense of time is good, but nowhere near _that_ good.

"It's a Time Lord trick," he replies, sounding more than a bit like he's bragging.

She does some quick maths in her head; she'd left around seven, and the travel takes a little more than an hour, so… "Oh, that means it's nearly five. I should probably be heading home soon."

Doing her best to ignore the way his face falls, just a little, at that is difficult. But if she doesn't, she'll let herself get drawn in to stay only a few minutes longer, and then a few more, and then it'll be horribly late when she goes and she'll be exhausted the next day.

"It's been lovely," she adds. "Really, it has. If I didn't have to work tomorrow, I would stay."

"This is a time machine," O points out. "If you'd like, you wouldn't have to leave quite yet. You could stay as long as you like, and I could drop you off with plenty of time to spare."

Between the way he looks at her, so soft she can hardly bear it, and her own reluctance to leave, it's tempting. Very, very tempting. It's also the first step down a terribly slippery slope, the rational part of her points out. So very similar to how she'd started staying at Elsie's, if she really thinks about it, though obviously the circumstances are entirely different.

"Not today," Theta says, though she wants to say yes. "Sorry. Just… not sure if I'm ready for time travel yet."

For a half-second, something akin to the manic laughter he'd shown so briefly flickers across O's face. Then it's gone, replaced by a nod and careful neutrality, and she wonders if it was ever really there.

"Right. Well, I'll show you out, then."

He takes her hand, and even though his skin is cooler than hers — enough to be noticeable, but not _cold_ — it sends a rush of warmth to her foolish, fluttering heart. As he leads her back through the winding corridors of his ship, she wonders, just a barely-there thought, what his lips would feel like against hers. And then she keeps wondering about it, even as she tries to force the thought away; his mouth looks soft, even with the short beard, and they're nearly the same height, so it wouldn't even be that hard to lean in and-

Theta trips over a slight difference in height between two panels of the floor, and nearly falls to the ground. O's hand moves from grasping her hand to her arm, keeping her upright and pulling her gently back to her feet before she can even process what's happened.

"Sorry, wasn't looking where I was going," she apologizes. She does _not_ mention why that was, because tripping was embarrassing enough. "The floor surprised me."

O raises an eyebrow. "The architecture surprised you?"

"Very unexpected bit of floor you've got there," Theta retorts. "Sneaky, even. Downright devious, I'd say."

" _Really._ " Somehow, he manages to convey quite a bit of sarcasm in a single word.

"Yes," she says, nodding earnestly.

They both manage to look serious for all of five seconds, before Theta starts giggling and then O joins in. His hand slides back down to hold hers as they laugh, and she leans her shoulder against his for support when a fresh wave of amusement sets her off again. If pressed, she wouldn't even be able to pinpoint what was so funny, but it doesn't really matter.

As their giggling finally dies down to the half-breathless and content sighs that follow a good bout of laughter, Theta doesn't bother to stop leaning against O's shoulder. Not that he seems to mind, from the way he's leaning right back. She runs her thumb across the back of his hand and smiles, then lets go.

Turning, leaning in to kiss him, feels like the most natural thing in the world. Her newly freed hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, pulling him closer; though once he catches on, that's hardly necessary. He kisses like he wants to devour her, to map and memorize everything he can touch, one hand on her hip and the other in her hair. At some point, she ends up with a hand in his hair as well, and it's just as soft as she'd imagined, perfect for winding her fingers through as her eyes flutter closed. What started as a simple press of lips quickly turns deeper and more intense, and it's only when Theta's head begins to spin from more than the giddiness of it all that she remembers that she needs to breathe.

Pulling away from him is like trying to force two attracted magnets apart, but she finally manages with a gasp. They're barely centimeters apart, so close that she can still feel his breath ghosting over her parted lips, but it feels so much further than that. She blinks, trying to gather her thoughts to say something, but it's difficult when she keeps getting distracted. Stars, O looks beautiful like this, hair mussed and lips reddened and cheeks slightly flushed. Theta's sure that her own are burning.

"I really do need to go home," she manages after a long moment. "I can't- I can't stay."

"Are you sure?" he asks — pleads, even. Certainly desperate enough for it.

If it had been tempting to stay before, now it's downright seductive. No, bad choice of word, that sends her delightfully hazy mind down all sorts of paths that are not helpful in the least to reminding her that she needs to go. She has responsibilities, and a job, and soon enough Tom will be back at sea and Elsie will need her help, and right now all she can bring herself to care about is O's hands on her and the way he'd tasted like home.

If she said that she had to go, he would let her. He'd given her his word. She could leave, and never come back, and she's almost certain that he would respect that. It's a comfort, and an out she should really, _really_ take.

Theta smiles, and she can't even bother faking a put-upon sigh. "I guess I can stay a little longer."

O beams and pulls her in for another hungry, passionate kiss, and she mentally amends that to a _lot_ longer.

  
  


Somehow, they end up in O's library, still peppering each other with affection. Theta's thoroughly lost track of time, but finds that she doesn't particularly mind. All she's concerned with is the way the both of them have curled into an armchair not meant for more than one person and how gentle the kisses O presses to her neck are.

"You could spend the night," he offers, voice low, between two kisses on either side of her throat. "There's plenty of spare bedrooms."

"I'm not dressed for work," she protests, though it doesn't sound much like one even to her own ears. "I'd have to run home in the morning to get my uniform."

He meanders his way back up to her lips, meeting her eyes. "Time machine, love."

A slow, languid kiss cuts off any argument she might have had to that, not that she'd really planned a coherent response. By the time he pulls back, looking frustratingly, gorgeously pleased with himself, Theta's completely forgotten any other points she was prepared to make.

"You're a terrible influence," she mutters without any bite, staring up at him. "'M supposed to be responsible."

"Oh, I doubt that," he laughs. "I very much doubt that."

Theta rolls her eyes at him, then grabs his face and pulls him down for another kiss. She's earned this, hasn't she? One day of happiness and forgetting all the things she normally has to worry about, one day of letting go and allowing this beautiful, enchanting man to lavish her with adoration. Deep down, of course, she knows that this can't last — soon, O will have to go, and even if he chooses to stay in London longer, once she needs to take care of Elsie again this won't be able to continue, and a small part of her is worried about what may happen when she breaks that news to him — but for now she melts into his touch and lets her eyes flutter shut again as he kisses her. Just one day, Theta tells herself.

  
  


She ends up in his bedroom. It wasn't where she _meant_ to fall asleep, but when she'd finally gotten tired and asked where the nearest guest bedroom was, all of the doors O had insisted led to guest rooms only opened to his own. He'd muttered something about his ship meddling with things, then told Theta if she was uncomfortable that he'd be more than happy to spend the next few hours elsewhere.

In all honesty, she _should_ have felt uncomfortable. A man she still barely knows — though she's well aware he has no qualms about murder — in his own labyrinthine home, with no one who knows where she is to worry about her. If something were to happen, that would likely be the end for her. But she's not afraid that anything _will_ happen, not now, and the bed is more than big enough for the both of them. Theta tells him to stay, and he does.

When she falls asleep, on the opposite side of the bed from O, neither of them touching at all, she dreams. More vividly, more _intensely_ than any of her previous strange dreams have been, more _real._

She's in a lab, strapped to some horrible machine, and a friend-turned-more-turned-enemy is about to turn it on. Agony rips through her, heartstopping terror, before her heart really does stop, and then a flicker of that old friendship comes to life and she's being fussed over by the very man responsible.

She's on a tower, only not any more because she's falling to what she knows will be her death, and her killer watches with poorly-hidden shock and dismay.

She watches him burn, and doesn't save him.

She watches him fall into a void so deep not even light can escape, and fails to save him.

She watches him die, over and over again in a war so much _more_ than the one raging across the world, and she cannot save him because she is there too, dying and dying and somehow waking up again in the same life.

She watches him die in her arms, and he refuses to let her save him.

She watches the last spark of friendship die, the last star in the sky blink out.

She sees the magical city she's so often dreamed of burnt and destroyed, and he begs for death that she cannot give.

Theta wakes up to find herself crying, O's arms around her in an embrace as he is gentle, so gentle. Too gentle for the blood on his hands, she thinks, and then forgets the thought before it's even done.

"Bad dream," she mutters, and her throat is dry enough to make the words rasp despite the tears. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"I was already awake," he assures her.

One of his hands traces soft circles over her back, through the fabric of her blouse that she'd slept in. It'll be wrinkled beyond repair, now, she knows, and it's always a hassle to iron things. Eventually, her sobs trail off into silence and she feels at least a little bit better.

She's grateful when O doesn't ask her to talk about it. How would she even explain? How could she put into words the way it all felt so real; every pain, every grief-filled tear, every sting of betrayal just as sharp as if they happened while awake.

"I need to go to work," she sighs into his shoulder. "I mean it this time, I can't stay any longer."

"Will you come back?" he asks.

"I want to. Can I?"

His hand stills on her back, halfway through a circle. "Of course. Always, Theta."

It sounds like more of a confession than it should, like some secret kept just between the two of them, like a promise. He's opened the door to let her in to every part of his life, and now she has the key for once she's left.

O waits for her to get up first, reluctantly removing herself from the comfort of his arms and the warmth of his bed. She stands, stretches, tries to pretend that she doesn't want to stay.

"You know, you've got a bit of a theme going," she points out, looking at the plush violet comforter as she runs a hand through her hair. It's gone a little wavy, but not too unmanageable. "All the purple. No other colors allowed?"

"It used to be all black. I decided to try to branch out a little while ago." He grins at her. "And I look good in purple."

Theta rolls her eyes and doesn't say that he's right. "So, going to show me how this time machine works, then?"

He takes her hand, leads her back into what she's come to think of as the entryway. It's just as breathtaking as she remembers, and she doesn't think she'll ever get used to the sight of it.

"The console is up here," O explains as they walk up the stairs. "And the details are extremely complicated. But the short explanation is, I pilot the ship to the right place, then into the Time Vortex and back out at the right point in time."

She blinks. "Time Vortex?"

"Imagine that Time is a circle. It isn't, but pretend that it is. You go through life walking around the perimeter of it, just one tiny little arc of the whole thing. The Vortex is the inside of the circle." His hands wave around in something that might have been a helpful gesture if it were a little less dramatic. "My ship takes us off the perimeter, and then we can move around until we're where we want to be, then get back out onto the perimeter." This, too, is accompanied by an unhelpful movement.

"So it's… what, a hallway through time?" Theta asks, trying to make it make sense.

O shrugs. "Not really, but you're close enough for a human. When do you want to be at your flat?"

"What time is it now?"

He pulls one of the thin, dark screens attached to the central pillar of blackened wrought iron and stained glass, and does something to make it light up, displaying circles much like the ones on the doors.

"For you, six forty-three," he says.

"Drop me off at five," she decides. "That's about when I usually wake up, anyhow."

With a nod, he begins pressing buttons and flipping switches. A low humming thrums through the floor, and the glass of the pillar glows from within with golden light, illuminating the upper floor like a sunrise. It's beautiful, and Theta watches it as if hypnotized.

After what feels like far too short a time, the ship settles with a soft _thud_ and O turns away from the controls to look at her. The golden luminescence fades slowly enough that it still shines in his eyes, turning them soft and a little sad.

"Ready to go?"

Before she can stop herself, she answers honestly. "No. But I think I have to."

"Well, when you're ready to come back, I'll be waiting," he promises. "Goodbye, Theta."

"That sounds too permanent," Theta says. "I'll see you later, O."

He smiles, just a tiny upward quirk of his mouth. "See you later, then."

Theta steps closer to him to press one quick, chaste kiss to his lips, then heads down the stairs and out of the ship. The towering double doors swing open for her as she approaches, and she gives one a pat as she steps out into her living room.

She turns around just in time to see the doors of a massive wardrobe close themselves, and then the whole thing disappears with a gentle rush of air. For a long, quiet moment, she just stands there and stares at the place where the ship had been, and hopes it wasn't all a dream.

Then she remembers that she has to get changed and deal with her real-life responsibilities, and the moment fades, just as the ship had.

  
  


"So, did you take care of whatever was wrong with those people?" Henry asks, as both of them eat their lunches.

"Sort of," Theta deflects. "It got taken care of, yeah, but I didn't really have much to do with it."

"What happened, then?"

Perhaps she should have just taken credit for it, because now she's trying to find a way to lie about O. "Some bloke showed up and did something weird to them, then they woke up just fine, but they didn't remember anything."

Henry raises his eyebrows and doesn't say a word. He doesn't need to.

"Yeah, I know how it sounds," she sighs. "I can't really describe it, okay?"

"If you say so," he teases. "I'm just glad they won't be calling the coppers on us."

"Me too."

"So, this bloke, then," Henry continues. "How'd you see that he fixed it?"

And now she needs yet another lie. "He came by right after you left. I saw him going near the house and got worried he might be one of them, so I stuck around." Theta stops herself there, before she can say anything… incriminating. "My break's almost over, I've got to go."

"If you ever need someone else for something like that, don't ask me!" Henry calls as she walks away, and Theta laughs and nods.

Stepping into the inspection chamber, she takes a deep breath and tries to focus herself back on her job. She won't get anything done if she lets herself think about O, so she tries to force him to the back of her mind, even though he's occupying so much of it that it's difficult. In a few hours, she'll be seeing him again, but until then she needs to work.

Still, she can't help but think of how much quicker all of this would go if she could use the tools from his workshop.

  
  


Theta's out the door of the factory the _second_ her shift ends, barely stopping to say goodbye to people as she goes. She knows that she needs to go home and change out of her oil stained clothing, and probably bathe herself quickly too, and that walking faster won't really make much of a difference in how long all of that takes, but it makes her feel better.

The train ride is long and slow and crowded, and she tries her best not to bounce her leg anxiously as she sits and waits for her stop. To occupy herself, she tries to figure out how she's going to explain the situation with Elsie to O. Not that it's technically any of his business, but it will mean that she'll have less time to spend with him, so she feels like she should tell him at least the general shape of it.

By the time she gets off, heading for Oxford Street, she still doesn't have any wonderful ideas. It's not exactly a difficult situation to explain, but she gets the feeling that if she doesn't do it right, he won't take it well. But as she reaches her building, the watch shop below still closed for a few more days, Theta delegates that problem to herself in the future. Right now, she needs to get ready for another… well, she supposes it must be some form of courtship, though there isn't really a word for it.

There aren't words for most of what she's experienced in the past few days, not ones in the common lexicon. Aliens and time travel and places infinitely larger on the inside have no place in the world she lives in. But for O, for the wonders just within his ship — not to mention those beyond Earth that he's mentioned — Theta is willing to expand her horizons.

She cleans off the worst of the oil and dirt from work, pulls her hair loose from its tie and brushes it, and changes into something nicer. The jumper she pulls on is even purple, to match everything else in O's ship — she thinks he'll appreciate that. Before she goes, she grabs a scarf; it's the middle of winter, after all, and it was already freezing when she came home.

Then, dressed and freshened up, Theta heads back out of her barely-used flat and to the train station again. She makes a mental note to ask O if his ship _needs_ to be where it is, or if he could move it somewhere within walking distance of her flat. The train fare might start to get a little ridiculous if not.

By the time she gets off the train and starts walking, it's dark and cold outside, the wind nipping ineffectively at her nose through the scarf that she is quite grateful for. Still, when she sees the newspaper cart that O's ship is disguised as, she can't stop a sigh of relief. It's comfortably warm in there, and she can't wait to get inside.

Though she isn't entirely sure that it's necessary, Theta knocks four times on the counter of the cart before stepping behind it and into the fairytale majesty of its true interior. Just as she'd hoped, a rush of warm air greets her, and she quickly unwinds the scarf from around her neck, though there isn't anywhere to put it.

O is nowhere to be seen, but unlike the day before Theta feels somewhat more confident in her ability to navigate the depths of the corridors without help. So, scarf still balled up in one hand, she carefully opens one door and steps into the hall it leads to. It's a little more intimidating without a hand to hold, but the lights that glow from the ceiling are bright and feel welcoming.

She opens every door she comes across, just to see what's behind them. If last night was anything to go by, the ship can rearrange the rooms according to its fancy, so she doubts that she'll even be able to find anything O doesn't want her seeing — like his mysterious other workshops, or something even stranger.

What she does find includes a small swimming pool, a room full of musical instruments, and a very well-stocked shoe closet. Then, as if the ship has grown bored of sending her to a bizarre miscellany of locations, the next door opens to the library, where O is settled in the same armchair they had both… occupied the evening before.

He doesn't look up when the door opens, and for a moment Theta wonders if he's asleep. Then he sets the book aside and stands, smiling. Just that sends her heart skipping a beat.

"Hi, O. Sorry I'm so late," she says, not quite sure what else to start with. "I had to go home after work so I could freshen up, and it takes forever getting back and forth — that reminds me, do you _have_ to be here? Like, this specific spot?"

"Hello to you too," he replies, bemused. "And no, really, I could be anywhere in London. Why?"

"Could you maybe stay a little closer to my flat? I'm on Oxford Street, and it's nearly an hour to get here from there, so…" Theta trails off, mouth twisting into an awkward almost-smile.

He laughs a little. "Of course, love."

She loves how easily he slips pet names, tiny little fragments of affection, into his sentences. Something about the way he calls her _love_ and _dear_ just feels right.

"Thank you," she says, after her heart is done doing backflips over that. "Is there a plan for tonight? Showing me around more of your ship, or doing something else?"

"Whatever you want," O shrugs.

"What if I want to go see another planet?" It's testing the limits, she's sure; he'd said that he doesn't do joyrides, after all. But she's always enjoyed poking at the boundaries of rules.

His eyes glitter with something between amusement and delight. "Which one?"

"Wait, really? I thought you had to stay here to… look for dimensional tears, or whatever you're using that machine for."

"It's analyzing data right now, not collecting," he explains. "We can go anywhere you'd like."

"I didn't expect to get this far," she admits. "Oh! Is there ever life on Mars?"

He nods, still smiling. "Quite a lot of it. At the moment, there's only the one species, and they're not really out and about, but Mars had quite a bustling civilization a while ago." O takes her hand — Theta hadn't even realized she was waiting for him to — and starts heading back to the front room. "Mostly the Gandorans, but they're boring, so why don't we go before them?"

"I don't even know what those are," she says with a grin. "But sure!"

"They're giant lizards, and thicker than a stack of bricks." He makes a face. "Trust me, dear, you won't be missing much. Mars is so much more interesting before them."

She gives his hand a squeeze. "I'll take your word for it, then."

Somehow, the door they step out through leaves them on the second floor, near the controls, even though Theta _knows_ she walked through a door on the first level. Then again, it's hardly the strangest thing she's seen on this ship, and if it can change the order of the rooms, then why not where the corridors lead, too?

As O begins the process of piloting the ship, Theta abruptly remembers that she still needs to tell him about Elsie. She opens her mouth to say something, then pauses. Maybe it's best to stay quiet, at least until after they see what Mars has to offer; she doesn't want to ruin the trip by talking about something that might — though she hopes it won't — turn into an argument.

The ship settles with a _thump_ and O turns to her, a showman's smile across his face. "Outside of these doors is a planet so far away from Earth that you could spend your whole life walking and never come close to covering the distance. Ready to see it?"

" _Yes,_ " she breathes.

He reaches one hand out, and she takes it in hers just by habit. Together, they walk down the staircase.

"Do you ever get annoyed at having to go up and down the stairs every time you need to go somewhere new?" Theta asks, as they reach the bottom.

O laughs. "Sometimes, yes. But I like the look of it."

"So you're willing to deal with those stairs all day just so that your house can look appropriately dramatic?" she says, eyebrows raised.

"Of course. Nothing is more important than good presentation," he informs her, as if sharing a secret of the universe.

"Oh, naturally. What if someone were to come in and see that something isn't purple or excessively gothic?" teases Theta, just barely keeping a straight face.

He nods solemnly. "The damage it would cause to my reputation would be irreparable."

That's what finally makes her break the mask of sincerity, lips quirking into a smile. O chuckles as well, his hand tightening briefly around hers.

"What reputation would that be, then?" she asks. "What are you known for, across the universe?"

His laughter stops almost immediately, a flipped switch. "You don't want to ask that, Theta."

"Why?" She frowns. "Is it- _oh._ "

It's not that she'd forgotten about what had happened over lunch the previous day; just that, after everything that followed, it had slipped to the back of her mind. It was much easier to focus on the way his lips had tasted as he kissed her, the slightly coolness of his breath against her skin as they shared the armchair, how he'd comforted her after her nightmare, than on the strange darkness that had overtaken him when she'd asked _why_ he was doing any of it.

"However you know me is that important, huh?"

She'd meant it to be rhetorical, but he nods emphatically.

"You've no idea," he murmurs.

They're standing right in front of the doors, about to step out, but Theta doesn't want to just _stop_ this conversation. She turns to face him.

"I'm not asking how you know me, because I don't think I'm ready for that, but… Can you at least tell me something about whatever we were to each other before now?"

His eyes go soft, and he cups her face in one hand. "You were my universe, and I made yours more interesting. That's… that's what we were."

The way he says that makes something in her heart twist — the simple statement of the fact that he hadn't been _her_ universe as well. She can't imagine herself not reciprocating, not if they were so entwined in each other that he can't even tell her about his reputation in the greater universe without their past tying into it.

For lack of anything more to say, but unwilling to let such a weighty admission go unreplied to, Theta leans in and kisses O. He reacts instantly, eyes fluttering shut and his fingers tightening slightly, desperately, against her face. It's a little different than most of their kisses had been the night before, less about exploring and more about comfort. Theta finds that she doesn't really mind.

When she pulls back, Theta smiles at him. "You've definitely made my universe better so far. Thank you."

"You haven't even seen what's outside yet," he points out, some of the gloomy melancholy that had settled into his expression earlier fading in favor of a sarcastic eyebrow raise.

"Don't need to," she says. "It's already going to be amazing, just because you're showing it to me."

That's perhaps more of a genuine sentiment than she'd meant for, so she grabs his hand again and tugs him toward the doors before he can make any response. With a slow, dramatic creak that she's almost sure isn't necessary, the doors swing open to reveal Mars.

Theta had expected red dust, maybe, or the sort of craggy desert landscape she'd seen in paintings of the American West. Instead, rolling green hills spread out before her, each one tipped with shimmering white snow. On the horizon, perched on a mountainside, is some sort of building, ruddy brown against the verdant backdrop. Frowning slightly, she turns to look at O.

"This doesn't look much like Mars," she points out.

Slightly disdainful, he retorts, "And Earth two million years ago doesn't look much like London in 1915. So?"

"Wait, two _million_ years?" Her mouth drops open. "We've gone back _two million years?_ "

"No different from going back two hours to drop you off at your flat," O shrugs.

"It's _very_ different!" she insists. "This is unbelievable."

"Well, I hope you believe it. It's never fun dealing with someone who thinks they're hallucinating."

Under her breath, Theta mutters, " _Two million years!_ " again, before finally taking a step further, out onto the strangely stiff grass beneath her feet. Well, it's probably not _grass,_ but she can't think of anything else to call it. Curious, she bends down to pluck a single blade of it from the dirt. It's rough, almost sharp at the edges, with barely any give to it except when she really tries to fold it.

"Careful," O warns. "Wouldn't want to destroy the planet and cause a paradox. That blade of grass is extremely temporally important."

She drops it immediately. "Are you serious?"

"Deathly."

Squinting at him, she waits for his serious expression to crack. When it doesn't, she almost starts to ask _why_ one random piece of grass would be so important, and it's just as she opens her mouth that a mischievous grin quirks his lips upward.

"You're awful," Theta informs him, picking up the grass again to drop it in his perfectly messy hair.

O laughs, taking her hand again, and they begin to walk.

  
  


For a little while, they just wander wherever they want — or, more accurately, wherever catches Theta's eye next. Twice now, she's dragged O after her to look at something that had moved in the vegetation, barely catching sight of whatever odd, alien creature was responsible for the movement before the thing disappears into the brush. After the second time, she'd tugged him down to lay on the grass with her, heedless of the way it prickles at her back, staring up at the reddened sky.

It reminds her of her dreams, of the city of glass and metal she so often sees both intact and destroyed. The sky in those dreams is always orange, a sort of scarlet color that looks like too-bright blood. Theta stops staring at the sky, and rolls over slightly on her side to look at O instead. He turns his head to smile at her, looking genuinely content. She would kiss him again, but everything is perfect as it is right now; the gentle, warm breeze, the way his foot bumps slightly against hers, the fact that the piece of grass is still in his hair. If she could just keep this second of time, tuck it into her pocket like a photograph, then Theta thinks she would never be sad again.

"I wonder what that building is," she says, after a long moment of just basking in the light and his presence.

O sits up, squinting slightly. "Not sure, love. Most Martian species live underground, not above it."

"Why's that?"

"The atmosphere is toxic."

Theta blanches. "It's _what?_ "

"To them," O adds. She gets the distinct sense that he avoided telling her that bit until _after_ she'd panicked on purpose. "To you, it's a little oxygen-heavy, but nothing too immediately deadly."

"What about you?" she asks. "Obviously you can breathe on Earth, but… is the oxygen level, you know, normal for you?"

He makes a wiggly sort of hand gesture that doesn't answer her question at all. "I'm actually used to lower oxygen levels, but I get by."

"So _that's_ why I've been the one breaking off our kisses," Theta grins. "You have an unfair advantage."

"I'm sure you're devastated by that," he deadpans.

She rolls her eyes at him and nudges him with her shoulder. Then she remembers the whole reason she sat up in the first place, and refocuses.

"So, do you want to go check out the mysterious building on the side of a mountain on an alien planet?"

O looks at her with something Theta can only describe as resigned fondness. It makes her heart do a flip, though to be fair, that almost always happens nearly any time he looks at her like she's the only thing he can see — which is quite often.

"If that's what you want to do, dear, then of course."

  
  


The mountain is a lot farther away than Theta had thought it would be when she started walking, but with O keeping her company, it's not particularly tedious. She enjoys walking, honestly, though she's usually restricted to the streets of London by necessity and convenience. Getting to breathe in fresh — if oxygen-rich and alien — air, feeling the grass crunch under her shoes, and holding O's hand as they trek across the field is the perfect combination of wonderful things.

Hiking up the hill is a bit more rough, but she's determined to reach the building and find out what it is. After all, why explore alien worlds if not to uncover fascinating secrets and get caught up in dangerous adventures?

Not that she's hoping something dangerous happens. She'd rather it just be a peaceful trip — perhaps the building will be abandoned, or just home to some interstellar traveller like themselves — but if something _were_ to go wrong… Theta almost thinks that would be just as good.

When they finally stand in front of the door, she doesn't hesitate to knock. Four quick taps of her knuckles, and she sees O stiffen out of the corner of her eye when she finishes. By the time she looks back over, he's fine, so she decides it's not her business.

"Why's the door shaped like one from Earth?" she asks, half in hopes of distracting him and half because she's genuinely curious.

O shrugs. "Most sapients are bipedal, so it's the most convenient shape."

"What, so it's not a coincidence that you're human-shaped?" Theta teases.

"It's not a coincidence that _you're_ Time Lord shaped," he retorts. "It's actually quite deliberate. They were an egotistical lot, and one of the founders of their society decided to remake the universe in his shape."

Theta has no words for that, but she hopes her incredulous face gets her feelings on _that_ across.

"Yeah," O says, nodding. "They were… pretty much all like that."

She frowns. "Were?"

An emotion deeper and darker than she can put a name to settles in his eyes. The hand holding hers tightens its grip for a half-second before he seems to remember that her fingers are there too, and Theta suddenly catches an inkling of the same not-quite-fear that she'd felt yesterday when she'd asked why he cared about her so much.

" _Were._ "

He says it like a statement, like a fact, and she finds that she doesn't want to learn why.

Any comforting words she might have had for him are cut off when the door in front of them swings open. Inside the doorway stands a creature that looks… well, Theta's never seen anything like it, but the closest thing her mind can produce is a hedgehog, stretched to fit a human form. Spines jut out from the thing's pale skin, beady black eyes meet hers, and the nose is just a little too snout-like for her comfort.

"Hello?" The creature looks both of them up and down with clear suspicion. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"We're just visiting this lovely planet," O says smoothly. "We saw your house and got curious why someone would be living above ground here."

"You are travellers?" the creature asks, tilting its head.

"Sort of," says Theta. "This is my first time leaving my planet, but he really knows his way around."

Instantly, it perks up, spines rising slightly in a way that puts her on edge. "Come in, come in, you should have said sooner! I always welcome travellers."

It turns, walking deeper into the house, and Theta starts to follow them before O stops her. She looks at him, confused.

"I don't think that thing is trustworthy," he whispers. "This might not be the best decision, Theta."

"But don't you want to see inside?" she asks. "Besides, there's two of us and only one of… that. Please?"

His expression softens instantly, and he sighs. "Alright, love. Don't be surprised if something goes wrong, though."

She doesn't say it, but Theta's almost certain that O won't let that happen. Whether it's the sense of completeness, of _comfort,_ that she always feels around him, or the fact that he's simply far more experienced at this than she is, there's no doubt in her mind that he'll keep her safe.

Theta steps inside the house, taking in the strange interior. There aren't any windows, so the only light comes from what seem to be electricity-powered squares of bright white material embedded in the walls. Beneath her shoes, the floor is ever so slightly sticky, more like damp dirt than a proper floor. The juxtaposition of technology and simplicity is continued by the layout — the house is one large room, no physical divisions between anything, but there are shimmering translucent barriers separating different areas.

The hedgehog-like creature lifts its spines at the two of them and gestures towards the sturdy table made of ruddy stone. "Please, sit. I will bring you food, and you will tell me of your travels, yes?"

Obediently, Theta pulls one of the short chairs out, sitting down carefully and folding her hands in her lap. She isn't sure what counts as proper table etiquette for Martians, but she doesn't want to be rude. O sits beside her, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

"How can we understand each other?" Theta asks in a low voice, quiet enough that hopefully the creature can't hear them where it stands in the kitchen-equivalent. "It just sounds like English to me, but that doesn't make any sense."

"My ship can translate automatically," O explains. "It establishes a low-level telepathic link with you and uses that to filter your speech so that you can understand all of the languages in its database."

"Telepathic like those parasites?" she hisses. "Why didn't I notice?"

"Comparing my ship to those disgusting things is the same as comparing a child's babbling to Shakespeare," he says, sounding distinctly offended by the mere implication. "They use the same basic toolkit, yes, but one is vastly more sophisticated than the other. That's why you didn't notice, dear, because humans aren't telepathically sensitive enough to detect that level of nuance."

Somehow, it's his choice of comparison that sticks with her. "You like Shakespeare?"

"He's hardly my favorite Earth author, but I can appreciate his works," O replies.

Finished preparing whatever food it intends to give them, the hedgehog creature sets down intricately carved stone bowls on the table in front of each of them, and any further discussion on the topic of Shakespeare comes to a halt.

"Please, eat," the creature says, handing each of them a stubby spoon. "It is made from mushrooms that grow in the caverns below, and quite tasty."

Theta looks down at the vibrantly pink sludge in the bowl, then glances at O, who's already taken a small bite. While she's all for experiencing alien culture, she'd rather still be alive by the end of it.

"It shouldn't be toxic to you," he announces. "The flavor isn't bad, either."

Reassured, she scoops a bit of the sludge onto her spoon and tries it. It's strangely spicy, tingling not unpleasantly as she swallows. Not at all the taste she would have expected from such a thing, but not bad at all.

"What planet do you hail from, travellers?" asks the creature, after a few seconds. "What brings you to this place?"

Theta really hopes speaking during a meal isn't considered rude here, because she doesn't hesitate to answer. "I'm from Earth, which is right next door from this planet, really. And we're just seeing the sights. My name's Theta, by the way, and this is O. I don't think we introduced ourselves."

"I am called Shraen," the creature replies. "Please, tell me more of how you arrived here. I saw no transport vessel land nearby."

"Oh, it's brilliant! O's ship can travel anywhere, and it's so much bigger on the inside than it looks."

Shraen's eyes brighten — literally, and that's somewhat disturbing — and its spines rise. "You speak the truth?"

"It can move in time and space, it's amazing!" Theta smiles.

She pauses to take another bite of the mushroom dish, and when she glances over at O, he's eyeing Shraen with suspicion. That's rather rude of him, she thinks. Or, at least, it feels like she thinks that. Everything is going a little fuzzy at the edges, her brain unravelling like a scarf with a loose thread. She'd brought a scarf, hadn't she? It had been cold before, she thinks. It's warm now, at least. Everything feels warm and fuzzy like a… scarf.

Distantly, she's aware that her fraying thoughts are going in spiralling circles. Even more distantly, she feels O's hand land on her wrist for a moment. Then she feels nothing at all.

  
  


Theta wakes up with her head feeling like she's on the wrong side of a night of drinking. Thankfully, wherever she is, it's dark enough to not hurt her eyes when she opens them. Less thankfully, it's uncomfortably cold and damp, the floor underneath her prone body slimy with something she really doesn't want to know the true identity of.

Planting her hands on the disgusting floor, Theta pushes herself up so that she's sitting. The dim light from a single tiny square of white embedded in the wall is enough for her to see that she's in some sort of tunnel that stretches on as far as she can see in front of her. Slowly, still dizzy from whatever had led to this, she stands and turns around. Endless tunnel in that direction too, it seems.

"Hello? Anyone there?" she calls, though she doesn't expect a response. "O? Can you hear me?"

The only reply she gets is the echo of her own voice off the walls. At least there's good acoustics here, she thinks bitterly.

With no better option, Theta picks a direction and starts walking. Eventually, she figures, she'll find _something,_ just by sheer probability. This place, whatever it is, can't just be one long, straight tunnel.

  
  


After what is, by her count, at least half an hour, Theta begins to reassess her confidence in that thought. She has yet to find any bend in the path, any distinguishing features aside from the periodically placed patches of glowing white light, nor any sign of another living thing except the single patch of aggressively pink mushrooms that she'd passed ten minutes back. She had avoided those — though her memories of what exactly ended up with her down here are blurry, she remembers that shade of pink.

Every so often, she'll call out, usually for O. Surely he must be looking for her, after all. Her last clear memory involves him, so they were almost certainly together when she…

Theta trips over something on the slimy floor, distracted by her attempts to remember what had happened, and does a horrified double take when she looks down. There, at her feet, is the corpse of a hedgehog creature. She can't tell if it's the same one that had been in that house, or just another of the same species, but that's probably in part because of the shadows. When she leans down to get a closer look, she sees that its throat has been slit; a single long, deep gash tears its whole throat wide open. The scant light available glints off of a pool of something dark and wet, stickier than the rest of the floor, and Theta quickly steps backwards.

"What happened to you?" she murmurs. "Who did this?"

After swallowing down the bile and fear rising in her throat, she steps carefully around the body and continues deeper. Something must have come this way, at some point, and though she really doesn't want to meet it, perhaps this is a sign that she's going towards an exit.

"Or that I'm going to my death," she adds out loud, under her breath.

She passes another patch of pink mushrooms not long after, and then another body. Throat slit, just the same as the first one. The sight sends a shudder through her, and she barely avoids throwing up.

Finally, after another few minutes — thankfully devoid of more corpses — Theta reaches a crossroads. One tunnel intersects her current tunnel nearly perpendicularly, and seems to continue forever in either direction, just the same as the other.

With a sigh, she decides to keep going straight. Before she does, though, she turns to face each side of the intersecting tunnel and shouts for O, just in case. When, as with every time before, she only gets echoes of her own desperate voice, she prepares to keep going.

Then, barely audible, she hears something that isn't a repetition of her own calls. It's impossible to pinpoint the source, with the way that sound bounces off the walls of this place, but she turns to her left and tries again.

"O? Can you hear me?"

Echoes — _hear me, me, me_ — and then…

"Theta?"

She nearly collapses to the ground with relief. It's O's voice, definitely O's voice, and her heart _soars._

"Where are you?" she shouts.

_Are you, you…_

"Follow my voice! I'm this way!"

Theta begins to run down the tunnel, feet pounding against the slick floor, desperate to find O again. If she finds him, then she'll be okay. She's certain of that.

The tunnel grows colder as she runs, and the lights grow fewer and farther between. Whatever stickiness coats the floor grows stronger, harder to move through, and despite her urgency to reach O, Theta's forced to slow to a walk before long.

She doesn't notice that she's shivering until she calls out and finds her teeth chattering. "O? Are you still there?"

_You still there, still there, there..._

"I'm here! Follow my voice!" comes the reply.

The closer she gets, the less it sounds like O. It's not very noticeable, or at least it wasn't at first, but something about the voice is wrong. It's too emotionless, Theta realizes, with a chill that has nothing to do with the dropping temperature. O is emotional; his eyes and his voice and his whole being show it. He's _genuine,_ in a way that this voice isn't.

"Is that really you?" she shouts.

_Really you, you, you…_

"Yes! It's me, Theta, it's O!"

And again, that isn't quite right. The way the voice says her name is flat, just another name. O _never_ says her name like that. He uses pet names more often than not, and when he does say her name, it's with purpose. Not like this, not so uncaringly.

Theta takes a step back. She doesn't know _what_ is at the end of this tunnel, but it isn't O.

When she tries to take another step back, her foot sticks to the floor, and she stumbles, falling backwards. Hysterically, she thinks that her jumper is probably ruined. She'd _liked_ that jumper.

Trying to pull herself up off the floor is ineffective, and only gets her more thoroughly stuck. Though she wants to scream, or maybe cry, Theta forces herself to stay silent. That _thing_ probably hunts by sound, and she doesn't want to give it more to go off of than she has to — and when did she start thinking of it as something that _hunts?_

Before she can stop herself, a tiny, terrified noise squeaks from her mouth. Instantly, she hears the sound echo down the tunnel, and something that is no longer pretending to mimic O's voice laughs cruelly.

"Are you scared?" it hisses, the words coming from all directions at once, coming from the very walls itself. "You should be."

A skittering, like thousands of legs against stone, bouncing and repeating and repeating until it could be from an army, getting louder and closer with every shaky, too-fast breath Theta takes in. She's going to be eaten, she realizes with a cold finality. She's going to die on a planet that isn't hers, millions of years before she's even meant to exist, alone and heart-stoppingly afraid.

A flash of light illuminates the tunnel, and for a moment, Theta sees something horrible and many-legged, gaping jaws dripping viscous liquid onto the floor, far closer than she would have _ever_ wanted a creature like that to be to her. And then it's gone, and all she hears is the gentle _clink_ of something hard bouncing against the floor a single time.

If she could move, she would turn around to see who — or what — was responsible, but she's still trapped by the sticky substance coating the ground, so all Theta can do is tense up and hope that it's O and not something even worse than what she was just facing. She cranes her head back to look, but it's too dark to make out much more than a faint silhouette.

She doesn't even dare to call out, in case it isn't him. Maybe if she's quiet enough, if she stays still enough, she won't be noticed. The sticky footsteps come to a stop not far from where she's trapped.

"Theta? Are you alright, love?" O's voice — she _hopes_ it's really his voice this time — is tight with concern and fury.

He bends down, face coming into her limited line of sight, and Theta laughs a little with exhausted relief. O's here, she's safe, and her heart can stop trying to beat its way out of her chest now.

"Yes, I'm- I'm okay," she says. "Think I'm stuck to the floor, but I'm okay."

"Here, let me…"

O slides one arm under her bent knees, the other across her back. In one smooth motion, he pulls her off of the floor with a sickening noise. After that, Theta expects to be put down, but instead he just holds her for a long moment, and she can feel a doubled heartbeat thrumming in his chest.

She doesn't particularly mind. After such a terrifying experience, being held, being comforted, feels wonderful. When O leans down to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, she gives in completely and rests against his chest, letting her mind and heart slow down from their panic.

"What was that thing?" Theta asks, when she finally feels like a person again. "Actually, where are we?"

His eyes darken with the same fury she had heard in his voice before. "What do you last remember, dear?"

Actually, that's… a good question. She isn't quite sure.

"We were going to look at that house on the mountain, and then we met that- that hedgehog thing, and you were talking about Shakespeare. And then it gets all fuzzy right around then," she says, shaking her head. "I remember pink. The same shade as those mushrooms."

"The food we ate was made from them. Not toxic to humans, but it contains a compound that acts as a sort of sedative and memory dampener. I didn't pick up on it." O exhales sharply. "And then you were teleported down here to act as _bait_ for that thing, while our gracious host tried to threaten me into helping them."

She's reluctant to ask, but Theta needs to know. "What did you do?"

"You won't like the answer," he warns.

As if she doesn't already know that. Theta isn't stupid; she knows that he didn't agree to kill the monster out of the goodness of his hearts. He did it solely to save her, she's sure of it. She just wants to know how far he went.

"Please, O," she says softly.

"I killed them," he replies. "For using you as bait and blackmail material, for putting you in danger. And now you're safe, and that's what matters."

The worst thing is, a part of her goes warm and fuzzy on the inside about that. He's willing to kill people to keep her safe, and some dark, deep little fragment of her mind thrills at that. It shouldn't. It's all kinds of horrible and wrong and _terrifying_ that he would do that for her, and Theta shouldn't like it half as much as she does. But having that kind of power, that kind of devotion, is intoxicating.

"I'm not going to thank you for- for killing for me," she starts, and she can see something bitter flicker through his eyes at that. "But I will thank you for saving me, O. That thing was mimicking you to try to lure me in, and I nearly fell for it. I think it would have killed me if you hadn't got here when you did."

He loses some of that fury that had been deep-settled in his eyes at that.

"Do you mind putting me down?" she asks, trying for a cheeky smile that probably comes out much shakier than intended. "Not that I don't like this, but it makes more sense to walk separately if we're going to get out of here. And I think I'm ruining your suit, I'm all sticky."

O laughs at that, and when the sound echoes off the walls, it's not nearly as ominous as it had been when she was alone. Carefully, he lets go of her, so that she's standing on the tacky floor.

Kissing him is probably a bad idea, Theta knows. It gives him the — entirely wrong, because she should be better than that — idea that she appreciates his methods for rescuing her, which is the last thing she wants. But she honestly could not care less at that moment, after being scared for her life like that.

So, even though her palms are disgusting with the mysterious substance coating the floor, Theta puts her hands on O's shoulders and pulls him in for a long, hungry kiss. He kisses back immediately, hands settling lightly on her hips where her clothing isn't too sticky.

"I'm still not condoning the killing," she murmurs as she breaks away for breath. "Just… missed you when I was down here."

"I understand," he says.

"Good." Theta nods. "Wouldn't want you getting the wrong idea."

"Of course not."

"Not that I'm not grateful! But it's-"

O cuts her rambling off by kissing her again, soft but insistent enough that she quickly finds herself melting into his touch. She really could do this forever, she thinks. Though, admittedly, her ideal setting wouldn't be a disgusting tunnel full of dead bodies and monsters.

"We should probably get back to my ship," O says, when he finally pulls back again. It's strange, him being the one to stop the kiss, but Theta's lungs are grateful.

"It's like you read my mind," she teases.

His face tightens for just a fraction of a second, quick enough that Theta puts it down to the strange lighting and nothing more. Then it's gone, and he pulls something out of his pocket.

"I took the teleporter they used to get down here," he explains. "It's not the most pleasant way to travel, but it's quicker than trying to find our way back out. Get close to me."

"I'm already practically on top of you," Theta points out, raising her eyebrows.

O shakes his head. "If you aren't close enough, the teleporter might not catch all of you. It's not a pleasant way to die."

"Ah."

She moves closer, until she's nose to nose with O, staring into those deep brown eyes. Her arms end up on his shoulders, criss-crossing behind his neck.

"Brace yourself," he warns, and then everything _squishes._

It's like being shoved through the tiniest space imaginable, squeezed into a pinprick hole in reality and then hammered through. Theta quickly decides that she hates it, once her brain is back together enough to be making decisions.

When her eyes open — she hadn't even realized that she'd squeezed them shut — she sees O's face first. Brown eyes meet hazel, and Theta almost doesn't want to move, doesn't want to ruin this moment.

"Ready to walk back?" asks O, so close she can feel his breath on her lips when he speaks.

She smiles. "Yeah. Think I've had enough of exploring Mars for today."

  
  


The hike down to O's ship is much quicker than the one up to the building had been; probably helped by the fact that it's grown dark out, the summer-like charm of earlier in the day fading into cold, bitter winds. Not even Theta's jumper — still unpleasantly sticky against her back — keeps out the chill, and she finds herself walking closer and closer to O the longer they've been walking. By the time they reach they reach the foot of the mountain, she's shivering and pressed nearly as tightly to his side as she had been when they were teleporting.

O stops and begins pulling off his suit jacket, then hands it over to Theta. She takes the soft purple fabric with a confused frown.

"You're cold," he says matter-of-factly.

For a moment, she considers protesting, saying that she doesn't need it. But… she's freezing, there's still quite a bit of distance to cover before they reach the ship, and the jacket does seem rather warm. So, even though she feels a little guilty for the inevitable stickiness that will probably transfer to the inside of the fabric, Theta puts it on.

Though the two of them are nearly the same height, O's broader build makes the jacket slightly too big on her shoulders, loose where it covers her front. She buttons it up, savoring the softness of the wool under her hands as she does. It's warm, and smells faintly spicy in a way that she's begun to associate with O.

"Thank you," Theta says, taking his hand again and squeezing it.

"Of course, love."

  
  


When they get back to O's ship, where it stands disguised as one of the bushes that dot the landscape, Theta is all too eager to get inside, out of the darkness and the cold. There's a haunting beauty to Mars at night, she's willing to admit — the way the stars shine like candles, the two moons casting a ghostly glow over the field — but it's not the sort of thing she finds overly pleasant to experience in person.

O knocks four times against one of the spindly branches, and the front of the bush swings open in a manner that looks like some sort of optical illusion. He ducks inside, and Theta follows him into the warmth of the ornate front room.

"Why the four knocks?" she asks as she straightens. "You did that when it was a newspaper stand, too."

Though he isn't facing her, she can see how he stills for a moment at the question. Perhaps it's more important than she realized; Theta knows she should just apologize and let the matter drop, but she waits instead, wondering what he'll say.

"It's a code," O says. "A very personal one. Something… something from my past."

"Something involving me?"

He laughs, the short and bitter and insincere laugh that makes Theta worry about him. "Oh, always. The answer to that question is always yes, love."

She decides to leave it at that, not pressing deeper. It's dangerous territory that lies that way, and she doesn't want to venture there, not after everything that's happened today. Even though she's curious, even though the few pieces of their supposedly shared history that she has make for a very interesting picture.

Instead, Theta focuses on a more relevant question.

"Do you have a bath in here?"

O blinks.

"I'm covered in this sticky stuff, and my clothes are ruined, and I really think a bath would be nice right now," Theta continues.

"You don't want to go back to your flat?" He seems surprised by that.

She shakes her head, scrunching her nose. "Not really, my flat's a bit rubbish in that department. I figure with all the other neat rooms in here, there's got to be a good bath somewhere."

A genuine laugh, delighted and fond, spills from O's lips. Theta grins at him in return.

"There's a replica of a Roman bathhouse a few doors down from the swimming pool," he offers. "I can show you."

"That sounds _brilliant._ "

Theta takes his hand, and he leads her down to one of the many doors that line the room, picking one seemingly at random. The corridor is reminiscent enough of those dark, horrible tunnels to make her walk just a little closer to him, but the light and the comforting air of the ship help to mitigate the effect. That, and O running his thumb over her hand soothingly.

O comes to a stop in front of a door, and a rush of warm, steamy air hits Theta as he pulls it open. Inside is a massive room, the marble floor dotted with pools of water, the ceiling giving the illusion of an open, sunny sky above.

"Go ahead." He gestures at the room. "I'll be in my workshop when you're ready to leave."

Already halfway through the door, Theta pauses. "When I'm ready to leave?"

"To go back to your flat," he says, as if it should be obvious.

"Oh. Right." Honestly, she's not entirely sure that she even _wants_ to go back to her flat, back to her real life, back to the normal passage of time. But she also knows that she can't make that decision yet. She's tired, desperately in need of a wash, and there's too many factors at play here to just decide, spur-of-the-moment, to live permanently on O's ship. She needs time to think, once she's in a better frame of mind.

"I'll see you then."

Theta nods, heads the rest of the way into the bath, and tries not to slam the door when she shuts it.

  
  


The bath is nice. No, that's an understatement; the bath is _wonderful_ and Theta doesn't think she ever wants to get out of it. The water is warm, everything smells good, and she's pretty sure that the towels are the softest thing she's ever felt.

Unfortunately, the heavenly physical experience is somewhat overshadowed by the fact that she can't stop thinking about what to say to O. She knows that, eventually, she's going to have to explain the situation with Elsie, and the fact that this won't be able to continue. It's already the eve of the new year, and once Tom goes back, there's a good chance Theta will end up moving into Elsie's house to better help with everything. That means less time to spend with O, and she doesn't know how well she can juggle both caring for her bedridden best friend and travelling the stars with her… well, she doesn't even _know_ what to call O, but it's somewhere between partner and other half, and even though she's only known him a few days it doesn't feel like that's too drastic a descriptor.

Finally, once her fingertips have gone wrinkly and she's decided to go back to her flat and figure out what to tell O in the morning, Theta gets out of the bath. She wraps herself in one of the towels, dries her hair, and is only somewhat surprised to find her clothing clean and folded neatly on one of the marble benches.

"Thank you," she says, though she isn't entirely sure if that's necessary. After all, O had said that the ship is psychic, so perhaps it already knew. Still, it can't hurt.

O's jacket is on top of the stack, innocuously placed on top of her trousers, and Theta spends longer than is probably reasonable debating whether or not to put it on. It's not as though she needs it in the warmth of his ship, but it is comfortable, and wearing it is easier than carrying it back to him. In the end, she does shrug it on over her jumper, and then heads out into the corridor to find his workshop.

Without O there to guide her, the halls are much more intimidating. Theta barely remembers where the workshop is, only that it's close to the heart of the ship, down where the corridors turn to metal and the air buzzes with energy. She picks a direction and starts walking, hoping that she's going the right way.

Eventually, after a few minutes of wandering, trailing her hand along the wall in hopes that if she gets too badly lost she can just turn around, Theta finds herself at a dead end. There's a single door at the end of the hallway, and the circles on it look somewhat familiar. Somewhat nervous that it might not be the right room — though she likes O's ship, she doesn't entirely trust it — Theta opens the door.

It doesn't lead to the workshop, but to the music room. Theta knows enough to be a passable pianist, as her parents had insisted on lessons despite her hatred of them, and the beautiful black piano that sits against one wall calls to her, even though she knows she should be looking for the workshop. She's tired, she needs to go home, and somehow she still finds herself pulling the bench out and sitting down, opening the lid, and looking at the sheet music.

The title of the piece is in German, and for whatever reason, the ship hasn't seen fit to translate it for her. Not that that matters; the sheet music is easy enough to read, though it looks much harder to put into practice. Theta settles her hands on the gleaming keys and begins to play, working slowly through the melody.

For a little while, she loses herself in the music, letting her hands move without needing to think too hard about it — apparently, all those years of lessons made some kind of impression. When she reaches the end of the piece, she plays through it again, faster and more confident. She's about to start it over a third time when she hears the door creak open.

Startled, she turns around. O is standing in the doorway, looking just as surprised to find her as she is to see him.

"Your ship wasn't taking me to the workshop," Theta explains. "The hall stopped and this was the only door, so I think it wanted me in here."

"It needs to learn to stop meddling," he mutters, low enough that it's only the acoustics of the room that allow her to hear him. Then, louder, meant for her, "I didn't know that you played piano."

"Not much," Theta shrugs, "but my parents made me take lessons. Do you?"

An odd, inexplicable emotion flickers across his face. "I used to."

"Come on then," she says, moving over on the bench and patting it. "Show me."

For a moment, she thinks that O's going to refuse. Then he sighs and smiles, still edged with that almost mournful air, and crosses the room to sit next to her. The bench isn't quite wide enough for the both of them to sit with space between them, and their shoulders brush against each other. He reaches out, turning through the pages until he lands on a specific one piece — from what Theta can decipher, it's by the same composer as the one she'd been playing.

Though she had been able to stumble through somewhat competently, O plays as though he already knows the piece, fingers moving smoothly from key to key, only pausing to flip the page. It's a slow song, and something about the flowing, melancholy melody makes Theta think of her childhood. The ringing notes tug at her heartstrings, heavy with unspoken emotion and bittersweet reminiscence for days long forgotten. She's never much liked remembering her past, preferring to look to the future, but for those few, short minutes that feel so much longer, she can't help it.

Theta hadn't been a happy child; most of her memories of the years between her grandmother's death and running away are tinged with a pervasive, low-level misery. She wasn't meant for the trappings of upper class femininity, the pressure to be gentle and polite and to get married off and continue the cycle that her parents seemed to expect from her. Even before she'd properly planned to run away, she had dreamed of it. Somehow, listening to O play brings that all back — the long hours she used to spend thinking about fantastic places while she was supposed to be practicing her penmanship or learning how to manage a household.

As the last chord fades away, she swallows down the lump that's risen in her throat, then turns to look at O, raising her eyebrows. "You used to, huh?"

"I had a lot of time to practice, back when…" He trails off, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. You should be going back to your flat."

"Yeah," she says softly. "Thank you, O. Even though I almost got eaten, I loved seeing Mars with you."

Theta leans in, turning slightly on the piano bench, and kisses him. She meant for it to be quick, but when he tangles one hand in her hair and deepens the kiss, she doesn't pull away until she needs to breathe again. Her hand lands on his waist, and she realizes with a start, as she feels the silky fabric of his waistcoat, that she's still wearing his jacket, and that she should probably give it back. She also realizes that doesn't particularly want to, right now.

"Yesterday can't happen again," she whispers. "I can't stay, O, really. It's a bad habit."

Most of that is more to convince herself than him. He hasn't pushed her beyond anything she's comfortable with, he's let her set the tone for all of this, and if she really wanted to go home, she knows that he would let her. The only problem is, she isn't sure that she wants to go home. It's nice, sharing a bed with O, and she's more than willing to put up with the somewhat hectic mornings for that alone.

"It doesn't have to," he says. "I'll take you back whenever you want me to."

"And if I want to stay?"

He kisses her again, short but sweet. "How could I say no to that?"

That's the problem with O, Theta thinks. He really would do anything she asked of him, and she doesn't quite know how to handle that. It's wonderful, it's terribly flattering, and it's completely overwhelming. How is she supposed to know what the right choice is, when he would say yes, no matter what she chose? She knows that she _should_ go home and try to figure out how to tell him about Elsie, but it's so much easier to stay another night in his ship, and he makes that second option so very tempting.

"I really do want to," Theta promises. "But I think it would be best if I went home."

O nods, gently removing his hand from her hair, dragging it slightly across her face as he stands. She follows him up a second later, and tries to hide the way that her legs have gone just a little wobbly from the intensity of the kissing.

"Why do you think your ship made me come here?" she asks, as they step back out into the corridor.

"The same reason it wouldn't let you sleep anywhere but my room," O says, somewhat fond annoyance in his tone. "Somewhere along the way it picked up opinions, and now it won't stop inflicting them on everyone else."

Theta laughs. "Sounds annoying to live with."

"You have no idea," he sighs.

The lights on the walls flicker in what Theta thinks is the closest thing to indignancy that a time ship can manage. O rolls his eyes and makes some sort of gesture — she assumes it's a rather rude one — at the ceiling.

It takes longer than usual, or at least it feels like it does, to reach the front room, and she gets the impression that the ship is doing it on purpose. She even sees a few rather suspiciously uneven places on the floor, all of which she steps carefully over so as not to trip again.

Eventually, they do end up in the ballroom, though on the lower level, so that they have to walk up the stairs in order to actually get to the controls. Once again, Theta gets the distinct feeling that this is both deliberate and intended to be as passive-aggressive as possible.

"I don't think your ship wants me to leave," she points out, as O begins the complicated process of taking off.

"Like I said," he replies. "It has opinions. And it's fond of you."

Theta tries not to be smug about that, but she can't help a grin. " _Fond_ of me? Did it pick up that from its pilot, then?"

O doesn't say anything, pretending to be busy piloting. Overhead, the chandelier that illuminates the upper level flickers its lights on and off in a circle. She takes that as a yes.

When the ship settles, Theta pulls O away from the controls for one last, lingering kiss. The lights of the chandelier have dimmed rather romantically by the time they stop, and O rolls his eyes at the ceiling. Theta laughs, turns to head down the stairs, and then pauses.

"Do you want your jacket back?" she asks.

"My- oh, yes." He looks a little surprised that she even asked, as though he'd forgotten that he gave it to her. "No, you can keep it. I have plenty of spares."

"Just checking," Theta says. If he doesn't want it back, then she's hardly going to look a gift horse in the mouth. It's a good jacket, even if it's a bit big on her, and it smells comfortingly like O.

She makes it halfway down the stairs before yet another thing occurs to her.

"Where will you be? I know you said you'd be on Oxford Street, but it's not exactly small."

He blinks, and she realizes that that conversation had probably slipped his mind entirely in the excitement of the day. Not that Theta blames him; a lot has happened, and she rather doubts that he has the layout of Oxford Street memorized.

"There's a little alleyway right across from my flat, how about there?" she suggests. "It's out of the way, so you won't get noticed, but it's nearby."

O nods, and Theta makes it to the doors without any more interruptions. As they swing open, she turns and smiles at him.

"See you later, O!" she calls.

Smiling fondly, he blows her a kiss — and that makes her heart flutter far more than it should — and says, "See you later, Theta."

Finally, she steps out of the ship, once again disguised as a wardrobe despite being in the middle of her dining room, and listens to the rush of air as it disappears. Theta stands there for a moment, until the faint breeze its departure created fades, and then she heads to her bedroom. And, as she curls up beneath the covers and tries to fall asleep, she holds O's jacket close and tries to pretend that if she has to leave him, it won't hurt.

  
  


Theta dreams of burning cities again, that night. It no longer feels like a betrayal, but a declaration of love. She isn't sure how to feel about that, when she wakes up with her heart pounding and O's jacket clutched in her arms.

At least she slept long enough that, when she manages to pull herself away from the softness of the purple wool, from the smell that lingers on the fabric and makes her feel _safe,_ the sun is leaking through the window and casting the wooden floor in cold golden light. Theta leaves the jacket on her bed when she gets up, yawning and stretching and bracing herself for a long day. It's the first of the new year, and the last day before Tom is due to leave again — the last day for her to truly spend time with O. But first, she has to get through the mundanities of work.

She barely pays attention as she dresses in her work uniform, prepares breakfast and lunch, and walks to the train station. The entirety of the train ride passes in little more than a blur of people, and the rest of the walk to the factory isn't any more distinct. Henry's greeting is the first thing to really pull her out of her own head in the entire morning thus far.

"Morning, Wright," he calls. "You're looking off in the clouds."

Theta blinks, then shakes her head as if that will clear it. "Sorry. Didn't get much sleep last night."

Not technically a lie, but far from the real reason she can't focus on anything. But it's not as if she can go into the specifics of her situation — or even the general shape of it — with Henry. He's a good friend, but she's not sure he'd be the person to go to for relationship advice. Or advice about explaining to a handsome, wonderful alien that her real life is about to start conflicting with their adventures to other worlds. Which, she supposes, is still technically a kind of relationship advice, and not something that she wants to talk about to _anyone._

"Just stay alert in the inspection chamber, eh?" Henry teases.

"I will," she agrees with a smile that doesn't feel quite real.

Theta really does try to, but she can't stop her mind from wandering far more than usual as she works. Everything about O, everything about that entire situation, just distracts her so easily from everything else. How could it not, when it's everything she's ever dreamed of? A life exploring just because she wants to; not for money, not for war, but to see new places, new cultures. But her dreams had always been so small-scale. Stealing one of the planes she checks over is _nothing_ compared to being able to see the stars up close — and she doesn't doubt that if she asked, O would take her to see them, every last one. They could go everywhere together, see everything. How could she _not_ find that distracting?

She only notices that she missed her lunch break when her stomach begins to growl. By then, though, she's less than two hours from the end of her shift, and simply decides to push forwards. It's not as though anyone will complain about her inspecting _more_ planes, after all. She'll just eat on the way home.

As she leaves, Theta gives her perfunctory goodbyes to Henry and Florence and the others, but they are, once again, distant and distracted. The smile she gives Henry as he makes some joke about… well, to be honest, she doesn't even hear the punchline, but she manages a smile for it either way.

She scarfs down her lunch, now several hours late and really closer to being dinner, on her way to the train station, heedless of the odd looks that she's sure to be garnering. Worries about what to tell O, hopes about where they might travel next if it goes well — all manner of thoughts fill up her head too much to care about what's going on beyond her mind. It's so bad that she nearly misses her stop on the train, only remembering at the last second and having to dash for the doors to make it.

Theta walks back to her flat as quickly as possible, and is more than a little startled to see the watch shop lit up and open for business again. The Winsteads must have arrived home sometime during the day, she realizes, and they wasted no time in reopening. She'd gotten used to having the building all to herself, but there is something nice about being able to greet Earnest and his son as she heads up the stairs to her flat. Something familiar and grounding, something from her normal life that she can't ignore.

When she's back in her flat, Theta changes out of her work uniform quickly. It's hardly a rush, really, with O's ship just across the street, but she's been anticipating this all day and doesn't want to drag it out any longer. She'll break the news to O, and then… hopefully, another alien planet. If not, then at least he's just across the street from her flat. It'll hardly be a long walk back home.

Somehow, despite that, the walk to his ship feels as though it takes forever. Theta can see the ship — disguised as another newspaper stand, which she _knows_ wasn't there the day before — from the second she steps out of her flat and onto the sidewalk. With the time of day, there's hardly even any traffic to block the view; there's a perfectly clear line of sight from the front of the building to the alleyway.

But each step feels like it takes an hour, dragging on as she forces one foot in front of the other. Uncertainty lengthens the seconds to minutes in her mind, debating whether or not to go, whether or not to _tell him._ Part of her wants to be a coward and just pretend that she can go on like she has been these past few days — though it's been longer for her, really, with the time travel — but she knows that will be worse in the long run.

Finally, she steps into the alleyway, in front of the newspaper stand that is so much more. Four knocks to the counter, and then she steps behind it and into the front room of the ship. O is in there for once, sitting up on the second floor, doing something with the machine, likely scanning for dimensional tears. He stands when Theta enters, and she can see his smile from across the room.

"You're early," he remarks.

"And you're closer," she replies, already halfway up the stairs to greet him properly.

The quick hug that they exchange feels more intimate than any kiss would have, Theta relaxing almost completely in O's arms. Almost.

"There's something I need to tell you," she says, still holding him.

O steps back slightly, frowning. "What's wrong, love?"

"Not _wrong,_ necessarily, just important," Theta starts. She takes another step back, her hands fidgeting as she tries to figure out how to phrase it. "My friend Elsie is sick, and her husband is in the Navy, so he can't exactly take care of her and their kids all the time. I offered to help, but that means I won't have as much time for… this."

"Ah." He doesn't sound upset, which is a small comfort; resigned, perhaps, as though he knew this was coming.

"We don't have to stop, but it would have to be less often for me," she continues, rambling, trying to justify herself to him. "I love this, O, I really do, and I don't want it to be over-"

"Then come with me," he says, softly. "I've got the information I need, and I'll be leaving London soon. You could come with me, Theta."

When he says it like that, so earnest and _wanting,_ it almost hurts Theta to say anything but yes.

"I can't just leave Elsie," she protests. "I'm the only person she's got, and I can't do that to her."

"I could take you back, as soon as you wanted me to." O steps just a little closer, takes her restless hands in his. "Same day, same time. Nobody but you would know the difference."

She goes still at his touch. "I… I need to think about it. Give me a few days to think it over."

"Of course, love," he says, soothing his fingers over hers. "Take as much time as you need."

"But you said you were leaving soon." Theta frowns.

O smiles, one of those horribly charming ones that makes her heart flutter. "For me, that's relative."

How could she have forgotten? This ship seems to be only somewhat connected to the normal passage of time by default, so if he tried, O could probably make time faster or slower in here as he needed. But she would still feel guilty making him wait.

"Two days," she says. "I'll tell you in two days, okay?"

"However long you need, dear." He lets go with one hand to hold her face, ever so gently. "I'll wait."

A small, grateful smile quirks her lips upward. "Thank you, O."

When he leans in to kiss her, Theta is all too willing to let him pull her in and hold her again. It's comforting, the embrace a wonderful counterpoint to the sharpness of his teeth as he worries her bottom lip between them.

Somewhere along the way, she finds herself being backed up against the console. The edge digs into her back, but she can't bring herself to care when O begins scattering open-mouthed kisses down her neck. Theta grabs at his hair, keeping him close and gasping at every perfect touch. His hands trail along her sides, skimming down over her blouse and then stopping just on the verge of touching bare skin.

O pauses in his ministrations and looks her in the eye, forcing Theta to drag herself out of the warmth and pleasure of it all in order to focus. He looks serious, suddenly, no tempting smile at the edge of his lips.

"Are you okay with this, Theta?"

She wants this, all of this, to last forever. Travelling with him is everything she's ever wanted, and _this_ only makes it better. As if the prospect of turning him down wasn't hard enough to think about already.

" _Yes,_ " she breathes.

Like he'd never stopped, his hands slip under her shirt, fingertips slightly cool against her skin. He presses a kiss along the line of her collarbone, and Theta's eyes flutter shut. She has all night to spend like this, and no reason not to.

  
  


O's bed is quickly becoming rather familiar to Theta. The warmth of the blankets, the softness of the mattress, the way it's somehow able to accommodate the two of them without them ever touching and yet feel so intimate and comfortable when they're close. And, at the moment, there's not exactly another word to describe their arrangement; Theta's curled up around O, her arm around his waist, and their legs are tangled loosely together beneath the covers.

She's not quite asleep, drifting in the hazy in-between where her molasses-slow thoughts happen in sync with the doubled heartbeat she can feel beating in O's chest. Theta's sure that he isn't sleeping either, but his willingness to pretend so that she can fall asleep easier only makes her love him more.

Her mind is halfway on to another thought when she realizes what, precisely, that last one had been. It's not quite a revelation, but it certainly makes her freeze for a moment as she jolts back into a slightly more awake state of being.

She loves him. Some part of her, buried under everything else, seems to roll its eyes as if she should have known that all along. And, well, perhaps it's right. From the moment she first saw him, she'd been intrigued, and that feeling has only grown and blossomed since over these past few days. Fast — far faster than she would ever have thought possible — but undeniable, a flower planted and blooming in mere hours.

O stirs, turning slightly in her arms to look at her with bleary eyes. "You alright, love?"

"'M fine," Theta murmurs. "Just remembered something."

"It can wait," he insists, pressing a soft kiss to the closest bit of skin he can reach, which happens to be her shoulder. "You humans need lots of sleep, don't you?"

"Yeah," she smiles.

He turns a little more so that he can kiss her properly, then rolls back over after the quick press of lips. Theta wriggles infinitesimally closer to him and tries to settle down. She does need to sleep, and revelations about the state of her emotions can wait until what passes for morning on this ship.

  
  


When she wakes up, arm still wrapped around O, Theta doesn't remember her dreams. It's strange, not startling awake from some imagined horror or hazy memory, but pleasant. She almost wonders if the ship had something to do with it — she wouldn't put it past the interfering thing to help her sleep easier as some sort of _reward_ for last night.

Though she's reluctant to leave, Theta rolls over on the bed, letting go of O. He sits up almost immediately, and she wonders how long he's spent laying there just waiting for her to wake up.

"Morning," she says, stretching and standing up. The room is warm enough not to be chilly against her bare skin, but she quickly puts her blouse back on anyways, more out of awkwardness than anything else. It's nothing O hasn't seen, of course, but she feels strange just walking around practicallly naked.

He smiles. "Good morning, Theta."

"I need to get home, I have to work," she mutters, pulling on her trousers. "Do you know what time it is out there?"

"About four in the morning," O says, after a moment's thought.

Theta relaxes slightly; she's got plenty of time until she needs to leave, even if time inside the ship passed at the same rate as outside. Which, by now, she's almost certain it doesn't — she's been in here for far longer than ten hours, she's sure of that.

After locating her socks, she sits down on the bed and begins tugging them on, glancing over at O. "I should still head back now. I've got to change and get ready to leave."

_And to spend the night at Elsie's, more than likely,_ she doesn't add, because that feels unnecessarily cruel.

"You could at least have breakfast here," he suggests. "I could make you something."

There isn't any reason for her to say no. He'd already made her dinner the night before, and lunch on that first day; breakfast just completes the sequence. It would save her the time of having to do it in the real world, where time passes normally, and he probably has a far more exciting variety of food than the toast she was planning to have.

"Alright," Theta says.

O stands, walking around the foot of the bed to stop in front of her. Smiling slightly, she tilts her head up, and he bends down accordingly to kiss her. It's lazy — content, even — without any of the frantic desperation of the previous night. No point in rushing when it feels as though they have all morning to waste. And, in this ship, they might as well.

  
  


Theta steps out onto the cobblestones of the alleyway with her hair mussed, her blouse wrinkled, and the general air of a person who spent the morning in close proximity to someone they love. Despite breakfast taking longer than planned, it's only four thirty when she gets back to her flat, careful to keep her footsteps quiet so that the Winsteads don't hear. She wonders, idly, as she changes into her work uniform, exactly what the limits are to the abilities of O's ship when it comes to bending time like putty. Something to ask him about when she sees him the next day.

After packing her lunch, Theta still has more than half an hour until she needs to start her commute, so she decides to turn her radio on and flick through the channels for a little while. That's the plan, at least; when she hears the familiar voice of the lead character from that endearingly strange audio play, she quickly changes her mind and keeps the channel as it is.

It's been more than a few days since she last listened — Christmas Eve, if she recalls correctly. Aliens had been invading Earth to do something nefarious, though she's forgotten the details. There's an irony to it, that she'd been listening to a radio drama about aliens mere days before she would see some herself. This installment seems to be the end of that particular plotline; the main character saying his goodbyes to the people who helped him, then going on to the next adventure. Theta smiles to herself and spends the rest of the time before she has to leave listening to it.

  
  


Unlike the day before, she's focused on her work when she gets to the factory. The choice of whether to stay or travel with O still weighs heavy on her mind, but she knows that she won't be able to make that decision until after she's at least seen Elsie again, so she does her best to not worry about it until then. It's not as if it'll do any good.

As she leaves, Theta makes sure to say a proper goodbye to Henry — she'd been dismissive of him yesterday, too wrapped up in her own worry, and she feels bad about it.

"I'm going to stop by Elsie's again tonight," she tells him, raising her voice to be heard. "It's just her and the kids again, now."

Henry nods. "Tell her I say hi, would you?"

"I will," Theta promises.

He gives her a quick pat on the arm, then gets back to work. She takes that as her cue to leave, and walks out of the factory, into the cold London streets. For a moment, when the chill hits even through the wool of her coat, Theta almost wishes she had O's jacket. Then she brushes the thought off, and begins walking towards the train station. She'll be taking a different train than usual, but it's hardly an unfamiliar one after the better part of two months spent helping Elsie.

The ride to Elsie's is short, at least compared to the ride back to her flat, but it still gives Theta time to overthink things. She'd pushed her concerns to the back of her mind during the workday, but now they're back in full force, and she can't ignore them anymore. Really, her answer will all hinge on Elsie's condition; if she's doing better, then Theta will feel much less guilty saying yes to O, but if she's doing worse… Even though he said that he could take her back mere seconds after she left, Theta can't help but worry. If something went wrong, or she got injured or killed, then Elsie would be on her own. Theta can't do that to her, no matter how tempting the offer of travelling the stars with O is.

When she gets off the train at what she privately thinks of as Elsie's stop, Theta braces herself for the worst, even before she's on the same street as Elsie's house. It's only then that she realizes she forgot to bring the Christmas presents she had found for the children — a copy of _The Scarecrow of Oz_ for Isaac, a rather hefty volume on geometry for Alexander, and a set of doll's clothes and more red ribbon for Violet. With how close she is, it doesn't make any sense to return to her flat and get them, but Theta makes a mental note to bring them the next time. She doubts the children will mind too much.

Her nerves start to get the best of her as she gets closer and closer to Elsie's house. Once it's in sight, Theta can feel the butterflies in her stomach begin to stir, making her nauseous. She doesn't even know why she's so nervous, after having spent nearly two months practically living with them.

Maybe that's why. Maybe, after everything that's happened with O, she's scared that she's changed. Theta doesn't _think_ that she has, not really, but she can't shake the slight, nagging fear that she's going to walk into Elsie's house a stranger.

Regardless, though, she has no choice but to knock on the door when she reaches the house. It's flung open almost immediately by a very enthusiastic Violet.

"Miss Theta's back!" the girl announces, which seems to summon both of her brothers in a truly impressive amount of time.

Theta quickly finds herself being hugged by the two youngest children, and Isaac gives her an awkward, somewhat embarrassed grin at the antics of his siblings. Too old to join in, but not quite old enough to pretend not to care. It's sweet, she thinks.

"You weren't here for Christmas," Violet accuses when she finally lets go.

"I'm sorry," she says, as seriously as she can manage in the face of such adorable petulance. "Won't happen again, promise."

A twist of guilt settles in her stomach when she says that; she can't guarantee that she'll keep that promise if she goes with O. Stars, she'd been so focused on how Elsie would fare without her that she hadn't even considered how heartbroken the children would be if something were to happen, if she were to disappear without a trace or a warning.

"How's your mum doing?" she asks, mostly to distract herself.

"She's still sick," Isaac says. "Father had another doctor come, but he wasn't any more help than the one you brought."

Alexander nods his head eagerly. "Father thinks we might have to-"

"Shh!" Isaac cuts him off. "Mum said we weren't supposed to tell her!"

Well, now Theta's curious.

"Tell me what?" she asks.

"She wants to talk to you about it in person," Isaac insists. "It's important."

That, more than anything, has her worried. It's entirely possible that that doesn't mean anything, and that it's been blown out of proportion, but she doesn't think that's what's happening. Elsie wouldn't say it was important if it wasn't. Not about this.

"Well, I guess I should talk to her about it, then," she says with false cheer. "Then I can see what we'll be having for dinner, yeah?"  
  


The children nod, and Violet gives her one more quick hug before she heads to the second floor to see Elsie. If Theta's nerves had been bad on the way here, they're _awful_ now. She spends a solid thirty seconds standing outside Elsie's room, rocking back and forth on her heels, not quite able to muster the courage to step inside just yet.

"Theta?" Elsie calls. "I know you're here, are you just standing out there?"

They really do know each other too well, after those long weeks together.

"Maybe," Theta replies.

She cracks open the door, and sees that not much has changed since the last time she was here. Elsie's still pale and sickly, still confined to her bed, and the only thing that's changed is the pile of books and needlepoint on her bedside table.

"You wanted to tell me something important?" she asks.

Elsie laughs a little, though it turns into a cough by the end. "I was hoping the children wouldn't mention that. But yes, I do. Come sit down first, though, your pacing is making me anxious."

Theta hadn't even realized that she _was_ pacing, although that probably is the most accurate word for the way she was walking back and forth along the foot of Elsie's bed. Obediently, she plops herself down on the bed.

"We're moving to the countryside," Elsie says. "Tom thinks it would be for the best. My parents have a house they're willing to let us use, it would let me get more fresh air, and the children are all so excited about it." She smiles. "Violet's convinced that this means we're getting a horse."

Before now, Theta hadn't known it was possible for her heart to sink and soar at the same time, and she finds the overall feeling confusing and more than a little guilt-ridden. If they're moving to the country, then they're leaving her, but she can go with O without worrying. Except that won't really be true; if she isn't there to watch over Elsie, how can she be sure that she's okay?

No, no, she shouldn't think that. There's plenty of other people who can watch over the children and make sure that Elsie's in as good of health as she can be. Theta just hates the idea of that person not being _her._ But maybe that would be good; it's not as though Elsie's gotten any better under her care.

She swallows her more selfish impulses and manages a smile. "That's great! I'm happy for you. Really. I'm sure the kids will love it out there, and it'll be good for you to-"

"And I was going to ask you if you wanted to come with us."

Theta's brain briefly stops working.

"What?"

"I know you like it here, but you've talked before about wanting to get out of London," Elsie continues. "Someone's still going to need to watch the children, and they already adore you. Tom agrees with me that it just makes sense. You could even have a proper place to work on your projects if you wanted — there's plenty of land to build some sort of workshop if you'd like."

"You want me to come with you?" Theta repeats.

Elsie reaches out and pats her on the arm. "Not if you don't want to, of course, but I figured I should at least ask you. But you have your job and your flat here. You never asked for this anyway. I'll tell Tom that you said no, and we can find someone else, I suppose."

The thought of that makes Theta sit straight up, desperate to reassure Elsie that she wants to go. It's not even something that she has to think about; of course she wants to go, if Elsie's going.

"No! I mean…" She takes a breath in, only realizing that her hands are twisted together when she pulls her fingers apart to take Elsie's hand. "I just wasn't expecting that, s'all. I'd- I'd love to come with you. When are you moving?"  
  


The relief on Elsie's face is almost palpable. She smiles, giving Theta's hand a squeeze.

"Well, we've already started packing. Tom's scheduled for us to have movers come by the tenth."

That's barely more than a week, Theta notes. But she can pack all of her things in less than that, she's sure. It'll mean a lot of train rides, but perhaps if she asks Henry to help it won't be too bad. And she won't need to move most of her house fixtures or furniture, at least, so it'll just be clothing and personal items.

"I can be ready by then," she promises.

Elsie gives her hand another squeeze, face practically aglow with her joy. "I was hoping you would say yes."

"Of course I'm saying yes," Theta smiles. "Couldn't turn that down, could I?"

"You're a good friend, Theta," Elsie says softly. "I don't think I would be here right now if it weren't for you."

Theta blushes slightly. Embarrassment, that's all it is; she's never been good at taking compliments.

"I should start dinner," she says, standing but not quite letting go of Elsie's hand. "I'll bring you some when it's done."

When she's almost out the door, she stops again, looking back at Elsie. Lit by the candlelight, even bedridden and ill as she is, she's beautiful. Her dark hair falls across the cream of the bed linens, and the pale skin of her cheeks is flushed slightly. Then Theta turns, closing the door gently, and heads back down the hall, her heart fluttering slightly for a reason she can't explain.

  
  


Dinner is a boisterous and chatty affair, filled mostly by the children's excited recounts of what had happened while Theta had been gone and what they plan to do once they're in the country. Violet still has yet to give up hope on acquiring a horse, despite having been told several times that chances of that are slim at best.

When everyone has eaten, Theta lets them stay up a little bit longer as she goes to bring Elsie her meal. The routine had become familiar over the weeks she'd spent practically living here, and it's easy — comforting, even — to slip back into it. So much so that it's only as she's handing Elsie the plate of food that Theta remembers she'll need to tell O.

He's not going to take it well, she knows. Not that she thinks he'll try to stop her, but it had been obvious that he was hoping she would come with him. Leaving him — not only leaving, but moving out of the city — will hurt them both, Theta's sure of it, but it will hit O worse. Theta will have Elsie and the children to distract her from that pain, but O seems to be on his own, save for her. She's almost worried that he might do- something. What, exactly, she isn't sure, but…

She'll break it to him as gently as she can, Theta decides. And maybe, if Elsie gets better, she can travel with him without any of the guilt, without any of the _worry._ That would be nice, eventually. If Elsie gets better.

"Are you alright, Theta?" Elsie asks gently. "If this is about moving, it's not too late for you to change your mind."

Theta shakes her head. "No, it's not that. Well, it's sort of that, but not really. It's fine. I'll be fine."

"If you say so." Elsie sighs, her head dropping back onto the pillow. "I'm exhausted. Tell the children I wish them a good night, will you?"

"Of course," Theta promises. "Oh! That reminds me. Henry hopes you're doing well."

That brings a small smile to Elsie's lips. "That's kind of him. When you see him tomorrow, let him know I wish him the same."

"Will do," she nods. "Sweet dreams, Elsie."

"Good night, Theta."

  
  


In the end, after she puts the children to bed earlier than usual, Theta ends up taking the train back to her flat for the night. She hadn't brought anything to sleep in, anyhow, and there's still the matter of O. Perhaps it would be best to just tell him tonight, she thinks as she gets off at her stop; get it over and done with before she can sleep on it and second-guess herself.

She's well aware that it might turn into something _more_ if she isn't careful, so Theta makes a clear, simple plan. Go in, tell O that she can't travel with him, say her goodbyes, do _not_ get caught up in the taste of his lips or the softness of his hands again, and then walk across the street and go to sleep in her flat. Nice and easy.

For anyone else, the hour at which she steps into O's ship would be unreasonable. It's late, nearly midnight, but she isn't at all surprised to find him not only awake but in the front room of the ship when she enters. He's sitting in a chair on the first level, a novel in his hand and a false sense of nonchalance about him, like he'd just so happened to be there. Knowing him, Theta's willing to bet he's been sitting there for at least a few hours, if not ever since she left that morning.

"Have you made your choice, then?" O asks, putting the book aside.

Theta presses her lips together. She'd hoped to not talk about that _immediately,_ but… "Yeah. I have."

"And?" He looks hopeful, optimistic. It hurts her to break his hearts like this.

"I can't. I'm sorry, O, I can't."

His face falls, and then just as quickly he's hiding that all-encompassing mourning under a thin veneer of indifference. Theta can see his hands clenching in his lap, nails digging into the checkered fabric of his trousers.

"Elsie's gotten worse. She's moving the countryside soon, and she asked me to come along to help with her kids, and I couldn't say no," she continues, well aware that she's beginning to ramble. "I really am sorry, O. I want to, but…"

"It's always the Earth girls," O mutters, low enough Theta's sure she wasn't meant to hear it. There's the faintest edge of a manic sort of grin to his lips that makes her nervous. "Every time."

"O, please, I'm not doing this because I don't- care about you," Theta insists. "Those days with you were _brilliant,_ and if it weren't for Elsie, I would-"

"Yes, but you've got a _duty of care,_ haven't you?" he sneers. Mocking, as if repeating something she'd said before, but Theta's sure she's never said that. "Have to look after the humans, even when I'm offering you the universe."

"It's not just about _you_ or about what I want!" she retorts, anger beginning to simmer in her chest, burning away the fear. "I can't swan off and see the stars just because I want to! I've got a life, O, a life outside of you and this ship, a life that you walked into without a care in the world for. And right now, yeah, I'm choosing it over you. And I'm sorry about that, because I don't particularly want to, but I'm not going to abandon my friend. I thought you would understand that, but I _clearly_ overestimated you!"

Theta knows the moment the words leave her lips that that was a low blow. From the way he stands up sharply, back straight and shoulders tense, it might have been a bit _too_ low.

"Perhaps you did," he snaps. "Perhaps you're just that much _better_ than me. Don't know why I ever thought that-" O cuts himself off, shaking his head and laughing a little. "I should have seen this coming."

She doesn't even know where to start trying to unravel that mess of emotions and a past she doesn't remember. So, even though it makes her heart ache, Theta decides to just go home. Whatever O is talking about, she can't help with — isn't sure she _wants_ to, not right now — and she needs to work tomorrow.

"I'm leaving," she says.

Another bitter laugh. "What a surprise."

"I really am sorry, O."

"And that doesn't change anything," he replies, sliding from bitterness to a manic serenity horribly quick. "All the sorrys in the world, and you're still a coward. I never should have even bothered."

That stings, somewhere deep and close to her heart. Theta turns around, heading for the doors. As they slowly swing open, she hears footsteps, and suddenly O is right next to her, nearly pushing her against the wall. Where the morning before, such closeness would have been a comfort, right now it makes every instinct in her brain scream at her to _run._ She holds her ground, meeting his eyes unflinchingly.

"I could fix your friend," he offers, jumping between emotions yet again to land on a terrifying earnestness. "Whatever's wrong with her, there's hospitals more advanced than you could imagine that could fix it. Then you could-"

"No." Theta shakes her head. "O, I've made my choice. And it wouldn't be right, doing that. There's- there's got to be rules against it."

"Who cares?" His lips twist into a sharp smile, unsettling like a rabid animal. "The laws of Time are meant to be broken, Theta, and I'm the last Time Lord left, so there's not anyone to stop me. Pop her off at some twenty-fifth century hospital, wipe her memory so she won't blab, drop her back on Earth never knowing the difference. You can say your sappy goodbyes, and then we can go together."

"I said _no,_ " she repeats, cold. "You're so determined to give me anything I want? Then actually listen to me, and _stop._ Stop trying to change my mind, stop trying to find loopholes, stop trying to intimidate me. I'm leaving, and unless you want this to be the last time I talk to you, you're going to respect that."

O blinks, surprised. Clearly, of all the responses she could have had, he hadn't expected that one.

"Very well," he says. There's still an undercurrent of that desperation, that manic energy that scares her more than she'd like to admit, but he's clearly forcing it down. "Good night, Theta."

She doesn't reply, shoving her way past him and out the doors. The cold night air is a welcome change from the stifling heat of the ship, and she almost wishes the walk back to her flat was a little bit longer. Walking always clears her head, and she could certainly use that right now. But as tempting as it is to make some sort of detour, Theta just heads straight home; she needs to sleep.

Unfortunately, it doesn't come easily. Her mind is racing, turning over every syllable, every minute movement of her argument with O, analyzing whether she made the right choice. The selfish, cruel part of her that had rather appreciated the thought of O killing someone for her is adamant that she should go back, say she changed her mind, and let him show her the universe. Elsie will live without her, and Theta will finally get to live out the very things she's dreamed of. Every other part of her _knows_ that would end in disaster, now.

When she'd been caught up in the fairy tale wonder of it all, it had been easy to brush off the more concerning parts as irrelevant. The murder, first and foremost, but the other, subtler things, too. O's obsessive need for her was flattering in the beginning, but now Theta sees it for what it is — a possessive, awful thing that she's _certain_ isn't healthy for either of them, least of all O himself. Not with how far she's already seen him take it. And that hidden history between them, that imbalanced weight of the past, only makes that worse. He clearly can't — or _won't,_ but with O there's not much of a difference — tell her how he knows her, why he's doing any of this at all, and she knows that shadow would linger over everything until she finally broke and asked and sent it all crumbling down.

Going with Elsie is the right choice, she's sure of it. _Almost_ sure of it, at least. No matter how hard she tries, Theta can't quite shake that bone-deep feeling that she's meant to be with O. It's been there from the very first moment she saw him, and it hasn't disappeared yet. She wonders if it ever will; if she'll be old and grey and still feel her heart twist every time she thinks about him.

It doesn't matter. She's made her decision, and she's going to stick to it. She'll say a proper goodbye to him tomorrow, after her anger has faded a little and she can be somewhat close to honest, and then she'll leave. They'll go their separate ways — him off to the stars, and her to the countryside with Elsie. It's better that way, surely.

Theta sighs into her pillow and rolls over. Her hand brushes against something soft, and her eyes fly open in the darkness to see what it is. O's jacket; she'd never moved it from her bed.

Well, even if she's leaving him, there's nothing that says she can't fall asleep with his jacket clutched in her arms, pressed against her nose so that she can breathe in the smell of him. If she tries hard enough, she doesn't even feel guilty about it.

  
  


Theta gasps awake, chest heaving and eyes wide open. Fragments of the hazy dreams from last night haunt her; glimpses of that glass city smoldering to ash, a freezing cold dread without a clear source, the faintest impression of a child in robes.

She only hopes that her sleep settles once she's moved to the countryside. Staying at Elsie's had helped with her nightmares before, and even though they're worse than ever right now, she expects that it will again. The alternative, the thought of spending the rest of her life with sleepless nights and strange dreams, is a rather depressing one.

Still, she's awake now, so she might as well get dressed and ready for work. From a quick glance at her clock, it's somewhere around half past four, and she's not really up that much earlier than usual. Her trouble falling asleep has just made the scant few hours of rest that she managed feel all too short.

As she eats her breakfast, Theta's mind wanders to O. Hardly surprising, given everything. She knows that she should talk to him, try to part on less sharp and painful terms than they had last night. If she wanted to, she could even go now, before work; it would give her an excuse to leave if anything were to… escalate.

Theta finds herself somewhat reluctant to do so, however. Not because she wants to leave O with their last conversation a bitter argument, but because saying goodbye would make the end of it _real._ She doesn't doubt that he's eager to leave, with the only reasons he had for staying gone — she isn't trying to be egotistical, but he had nearly said outright that he was only remaining in London for her now that the data he needs has been analyzed. Once they go their separate ways for good, she won't see him again. If he hasn't gone already, that is.

She hopes that he hasn't. She hopes that he's just as unwilling to let this end with anger and cruel remarks as she is.

Idly, more for something to do with her hands while she deliberates than anything else, Theta heads back to her bedroom and starts sorting through some of her personal items. She'll need to pack them up soon, and she might as well decide what to keep and what to sell or leave now. Most of the knick-knacks that decorate her room are things of her own design — clockwork toys, experimentations with various small-scale metalworking, and the like. Her collection of books, of course. And, though she's surprised she even remembers where she put it, her locket.

It's the only thing she kept from her family when she ran away, a gift from her grandmother before she'd passed. The simple golden heart holds a photograph of the two of them, but the opening mechanism broke so long ago that Theta can't even remember what the photo looks like. For years now, it's sat collecting dust in her bedside table, though it's in surprisingly good condition once she wipes it off on the sleeve of her uniform.

She almost wants to try to open it again, just to look at the photo, but she doesn't want to break it. And she needs to leave soon, if she wants to have any time to talk to O before going to work. Which, though she's reluctant, she does.

Theta tucks the necklace into her pocket before she leaves. It's a long shot, but if they manage a peaceful goodbye, then… Well, she won't get her hopes up.

  
  


Much to her relief, the newspaper stand is still in the alleyway when she steps out onto the street. She had hoped that O would stay, if only because he might be planning to change her mind. Her fingers tighten slightly around the locket as she crosses the street.

The four knocks to the cart feel like the end of something, like the final beats of a funeral dirge. Theta closes her eyes as she steps into the ship, only opening them once she's fully inside. Even after growing somewhat used to it, the sight of the front room still takes her breath away and leaves her awestruck. She's going to miss this, too.

Seeing O comes as a surprise — she hadn't expected him to be in the front room. But there he is, standing at the controls as if he's about to leave at any moment. He doesn't react when she enters, and Theta hesitates for a long second before speaking.

  
"I came to say goodbye," she calls. "Properly, that is."

Still, he keeps his back to her, only looking at the console.

"I-" Theta can't quite manage what she wanted to say, and changes tactics. "I'm going to miss you. And the travelling, and your ship, but… mostly you, O. You're brilliant, and I'm glad I met you. I really am sorry that I can't come with you. If things were different-"

"Don't," he says softly. "Just… don't. Just go, Theta."

His voice is low, the tone carefully neutral in a way that hides something much deeper and darker just below the surface. Calm waters concealing a monster below.

"I have something to give you," she continues. "You don't have to keep it, if you don't want, but I wanted to give you _something._ You gave me so much, and I just thought maybe…"

She trails off into awkward silence, the cool metal of the locket clenched tightly in her hand as she pulls it from her pocket. O apparently has no intention of coming down to her, so she goes up the stairs to him.

At least he turns to look at her when she gets up there, though his eyes are dark and colder than the streets outside. Theta tentatively steps closer, trying to look more confident than she feels. Somehow, it had been so much easier when they were fighting.

Her hand unfolds to show him the locket, the golden heart fitting perfectly into her palm.

"It's broken," she starts. "Well, the latch is. It doesn't open. But there's a picture of me in there, from when I was little, and it means a lot to me. If you don't want to take it, that's fine, but-"

Silently, O takes the necklace by the chain, holding it up to look at the heart. The barest hints of a smile curl his lips.

"You have no idea what you're giving me, do you?" he asks, wonder softening the sharp edges of his voice. "No idea at all. I could use this against you, you know. I could undo all of this with one little tug. You would stop existing."

A sudden trickle of fear runs down Theta's spine. She doesn't know what he's talking about, but it terrifies her, deep in her bones.

"Please, don't," she whispers. "Whatever you mean, don't do it. Let this be the end of it."

He meets her eyes, and his are dark and endless. "You don't even know what you're asking for, love. Whether I open this or not, it won't be the end. You can't avoid who you are forever."

Letting the chain slip through his grasp, the heart falls into his hand. O takes it delicately between his thumb and forefinger, turning it this way and that. Theta wants to say something, _anything,_ but finds herself frozen in place and silent.

Finally, he looks back at her. Almost absently, the necklace is placed into his jacket.

"But I suppose I can let you rest a little longer, my dear," he sighs. "At least until we're matched up properly."

Theta feels something deep in her heart relax at that, like she's just avoided something deadly, even though she can't quite understand why. Despite every bit of common sense reminding her how bad of an idea it is, she steps closer to O.

"Thank you," she says, barely above a breath.

And then, slowly, she leans in and kisses him. Brief, little more than a brush of lips, but enough that when she pulls away his eyes have fluttered shut.

This time, when she speaks, she doesn't lose her nerve. "I love you. And I'm going to miss you."

He leans forward, and she expects another kiss, but he just rests his forehead against hers. It's gentle, intimate in a quieter and more serene way than she would have expected from him, and she doesn't want to move. For a single moment, her world shrinks down to just the two of them, just this tiny space where they're together.

She doesn't understand the words he whispers a mere breath from her lips, though she can guess their meaning from his nearly worshipful tone. It's not enough to make her stay — she doesn't think anything would be, not now — but she hopes more than anything that she'll never forget the way those ethereal syllables sounded, the way they felt against her skin.

Finally, Theta straightens and steps back. O opens his eyes, fathomless with an emotion that she can't even begin to name, and takes her hands in his for a brief second. He squeezes lightly, just enough for her to feel the pressure, then lets go.

"Goodbye, Theta," he says.

The bittersweet smile that she feels pull at her lips stings. "Goodbye, O."

With that, she turns and heads for the doors of the ship. Though she wants to look back, just one more time, Theta knows she can't; she'll break, if she does, and she isn't sure how the pieces will fit back together once that happens. Like Orpheus and Eurydice, but she's the one doomed to stay if she looks.

When she reaches the doors, they don't open automatically for her, like she'd grown used to. The ship's small way of protesting, of asking her to stay. Pulling one open herself feels like a betrayal and another goodbye, all at once.

  
  


Theta goes through the motions of her workday by rote, checking over the aircraft with numb fingers and unfocused eyes. She can't bring herself to care much more than that, not after everything. She doesn't tell Henry about the plan to move, yet. Tomorrow, she will; today, she just needs to get through in one piece.

And she does. Somehow, she makes it through dinner for the children, talking about more detailed moving plans with Elsie, and the train ride back to her flat without letting on that anything is wrong.

What does it, in the end, is reaching the watch shop and turning to look across the street, finding the alleyway empty. That's what makes her heart shatter, what makes her take a sharp breath in and try not to cry, at least until she gets to her flat. It's a close thing, her throat tightening and eyes stinging as she closes the door to her flat behind her. Theta tries to swallow down the tears, but that only makes them fall, trailing down her cheeks and dripping onto her coat.

She sniffles, feeling pathetic about it, and rubs the sleeve of her coat across her face to wipe off the tears. She's a grown woman, not some heartbroken teenager. They were barely together — is whatever they were even counts as _together_ — for a week. This is utterly ridiculous.

Despite that, when she gets into bed and her hand brushes against O's jacket, Theta tears up again. Burying her face in the soft purple fabric doesn't help much with the crying, but it does, strangely, make her feel a little bit better. Bittersweet, perhaps, but better.

And, as she falls asleep clutching the jacket of a man she was never lucky enough to truly love, Theta's dreams are peaceful. Or, at the very least, she doesn't remember if they aren't.

  
  


Moving to the countryside comes quickly after that, in a hurry of hastily-packed bags and wrangling children into the right carriage of the train. Though it doesn't compare to stepping out of O's ship to see the verdant mountains and fields of ancient Mars, the sight of snow-dusted trees and rolling hills through the window of the train still makes Theta sure she made the right choice.

The house isn't much larger than the townhouse in London had been, but the property more than makes up for it. A gorgeous forest surrounds the stately building, and Theta is all too happy to take the children on a walk around it the first chance they get. The four of them return with their clothes soaked through from an impromptu trip to the creek that runs through the woods, and Theta makes hot chocolate while they dry off in front of the fireplace.

It quickly becomes _home_ instead of _the house,_ and for a few months, it feels like everything is perfect, like the war can't touch them there. Theta spends the summer holidays taking the children on little adventures, and Elsie occasionally even joins them, when she feels up to it. It's heaven in five acres.

And then, in early August, Elsie receives the telegram that Tom was killed, and that illusion of peace and safety crumbles in an instant. Theta watches, helpless, as Elsie's condition deteriorates rapidly; more days than not, she's too exhausted to even get out of bed. The house becomes dark and mournful, the summer's brilliant cheer snuffed out like a candle. In spite of her best efforts, Theta can only do so much to keep her friend — her _family_ — going.

Only in the depths of winter, nearly a year after they had first moved to the countryside, does Elsie start to recover. Progress is slow, painful, but Theta makes every effort to help. She can't bear to lose another person she loves.

The first day Elsie manages to come down for dinner, the first day in _months_ that that's happened, Theta is so overjoyed that she spends practically the entire meal talking just to get rid of some of the giddy energy filling her up. After dinner is over, and Elsie has retreated back to her room — tired from the exertion, but content in a way Theta hasn't seen in far too long — and the children have been put to bed, Theta takes a walk around the woods before going to sleep in hopes of calming herself down somewhat.

It's then that she sees the oak tree. The very first time she'd taken the kids to explore the forest, they had stumbled across a small clearing not far from the house. Though it had been empty of anything more than frost-killed grass at the time, in the summer it had been full of beautiful wildflowers, and now that it's spring once more, they're beginning to bud again. Nowhere in it, before today, was any kind of oak tree, much less the towering one that Theta sees before her.

She almost doesn't want to believe what her first thought is; her goodbyes to O had been rather final, she never told him where she moved to, and there's no reason for him to return _now_ of all times. But there's no other reason she can think of for an oak tree to have suddenly appeared in the clearing; none that make any more sense, at least.

Hesitant, not sure whether she's hoping to be right or wrong, Theta walks up to the tree and knocks. One, two, three, four beats, ever so slightly staccato. A familiar rhythm, even after all this time.

The bark of the tree swings open as if on hinges, and though every inch of her yearns to just step inside, Theta pauses for a moment. Some deep, frightened part of her is scared that if she does, she won't be able to leave again. She'd escaped once, pulled herself free from the heady, enchanting life that O promised, and she doesn't know if she's strong enough to do it again. She doesn't know if she'll even want to.

But she can't squash the curiosity tugging at her heart, the _need_ to see. Theta takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and steps inside.

It isn't the magical, almost gothic ballroom that she was expecting. Instead, the front room is small, cluttered with mundanities; bookshelves stuffed with folders, boxes full of paper, a small kitchen on one side. With the windows letting in bright sunlight through gauzy curtains, it almost looks like a flat.

But there's hints, just tiny things, that give away that it isn't. The sunlight doesn't fall quite right, pouring in from both sides equally. The air tastes strange and alien, though it's familiar on Theta's tongue. It tastes more than a bit like home.

She picks her way around the piles and stacks of things, towards the back of the room. There's something there, something that calls to her in a way she can't explain. Her fingers brush against the sheet that separates this part of the house, or ship, or whatever it may be, from the rest, and she gently pulls it back.

Beyond it lies a familiar pillar of glass and blackened metal, surrounded by dials and switches of all kinds. Though the room looks as if it could blend seamlessly with the front part of the ship — and Theta's certain that's what this place is, now; O's ship, if redesigned and rearranged — the doors all bear the same circular markings as the old ones had.

Again, Theta hesitates before going further. This feels like a final chance to turn back, before it all becomes too real. She hasn't seen O yet, she hasn't gone deeper into the winding, labyrinthine depths of the ship — she could still leave if she wanted. But that's just the problem; she hasn't gone deep enough to get the answers to her questions, hasn't asked O why he came back after more than a year.

She picks a door at random and begins walking, trusting that the ship will eventually lead her to its pilot. As she walks, she trails her hand along the wall, feeling the hum of the engines deep within. It's comforting, almost, though not enough to soothe the anxious twisting in her gut. This is a bad idea, she's sure of it, but it's a bad idea she feels some deeper need to go through with.

Eventually, the hall comes to an end, a single door ahead of her. Theta almost wonders if it's the music room again. Her piano playing has likely only gotten rustier since the last time, but perhaps she could manage whatever the ship might provide for her to play.

When she opens the door, seeing the library doesn't come as a particular surprise. What is surprising, however, is the sight of O, curled over in one of the chairs, staring blankly into nothingness. One of the screens, similar to those that ring the console, is in front of him, showing what looks to be the clearing where the ship is landed. He doesn't even react when Theta steps inside, his eyes glazed over with something disturbingly metallic and cold.

"O?" Her voice is barely more than a whisper, cautious to break the eerie silence. O was never this still before, always moving somehow. Now, he looks almost like a statue. "Are you okay?"

She takes a slow, careful step closer, and he snaps to attention like he's been shocked. Those unnaturally cold eyes fix on her with terrifying intensity, freezing her in place. Though they're still the same lovely shade of brown as they had once been, there's a silver sheen to them that sends a chill down Theta's spine.

"Why couldn't you just kill me?" he asks, flat and lifeless. "Why couldn't you end it all, Doctor?"

Theta frowns, taking another step towards him. Steady, well-telegraphed, like she's approaching a frightened child. "O, do you remember me? I'm not a doctor."

He laughs, sharp and cruel and bitter. "No, I suppose you aren't. Thanks to me. I was so _soft_ then, wasn't I? I would have given you anything you wanted if it would have made you happy. But you never-" O shakes his head, chuckles slightly, "hah, never wanted me. You're cruel, this time around. More honest about it, at least. You don't care about me, and you don't bother pretending you do."

"What are you talking about?" Theta demands. "I care about you, I swear I do. If this is about me not going with you, I-"

"You know, even then, I was planning on us dying together," he says, cutting her off seemingly without noticing. "Hadn't figured out the details, but I figured with you as a human, it might stick for good. We could see the stars, and then once you got tired of it… _boom!_ " O makes a little gesture with his hands, fingers fanning outwards to mimic an explosion, then sighs. "Couldn't even let me have that, could you?"

"O, what is this about? What do you mean?"

"Do you really want to know, love?" The pet name is spat out like a curse, like he can't stand the feel of it on his tongue. "Finally ready to stop hiding? Ready to let this be the end of it?"

Even though it's been months since they parted ways, Theta remembers those words. O echos them back at her, taunting and bitter, and she wonders just how long it's been for him since then. He looks the same — well, he doesn't look any older — but something about him feels immeasurably ancient in a way that he hadn't before.

It's terrifying. Everything about this is terrifying. More than anything, she wants to turn and run and _leave._ She has a family, now, a proper one, and she can't just abandon them for whatever _end_ he's talking about. And yet, despite all of that, Theta finds herself stepping closer again.

Another mirthless laugh spills from O's lips. "You really don't change. If I told you now that you don't know your life, that you aren't who you thought you were, you'd deny it, wouldn't you? But you'd still look if I showed you proof. That's what you're after, isn't it, _Theta?_ Proof that you're better, that you're _special._ "

He doesn't really seem to be talking to _her,_ now. His eyes have gone silvery and unfocused again, looking at her without seeing her, and his voice is soft, barely more than a sharp whisper. For a moment, he's silent, and then he stands abruptly from his chair, springing up with a sudden enthusiasm bordering on violence.

"I know it's not nearly as good as last time," O says with unnerving cheer, "but I think we can still make this one _fun,_ don't you? You're not trapped, no high stakes, none of your pets in danger, but I can spice it up a little. How about this — I'll tell you a story, and you decide the ending."

Before she can react, his hands are on her shoulders, turning and pulling and making her sit down in the chair he had just vacated. Theta tries to stand, but stops when O shakes his head.

"If you leave before I'm done, dear, I'll have to think of something _very_ unpleasant to do. You won't like any of those options, believe me." The grin that splits his face is ghoulish and horrible, sending a shudder down her spine. "So, sit still. I promise, the story's going to be interesting."

She doesn't want to know what he's going to do if she doesn't play along, so Theta obediently stays seated. Her mind is racing, trying to figure out a way out of this, a way to talk him down from this ledge he's standing on the very brink of. If she just lets him talk for a little bit, maybe he'll calm down.

"Once upon a time, two monsters fell in love," O begins. He sounds like he's repeating a fairytale, a certain lilt to his voice that would be soothing under any other circumstance. "They were both horrible, terrible things, created to bring death wherever they went. And one day, one of the monsters left to see the stars. They had promised, long ago, that they would do that together, but he forgot that promise and went off by himself. And he was gone for so very, very long that he forgot he was a monster at all, for a time. He wanted to be a hero, he wanted to pretend that he didn't trail destruction behind him like a cape. So, when the other monster finally caught up, he treated him like an enemy, a dragon to be slain.

"They fought, their battles causing far more carnage than their cooperation ever did. Countless lives were lost, countless planets destroyed, countless stars snuffed out, all because the monster wouldn't acknowledge what he really was. Over and over again, the two of them repeated this cycle, until the war came. And, for the first time in ever so long, both monsters were on the same side again, though they didn't often see each other. But despite their best efforts, war was unwinnable, and the whole of the universe — or what was left of it — was at stake."

Theta's breath catches in her throat, half-remembered dreams of desolate cities and corpses pushing at her mind. She knows, deep in her bones and without conscious thought, how this part of the story will end.

  
"So the _good, righteous_ monster put a stop to it all. He killed everyone fighting on both sides, even his own people. Everyone but himself. And he ran and hid and played hero again, but he didn't have his other half." O's lips quirk into a jagged smile. "Until he did. You see, the other monster had escaped the war, hidden and trapped himself among all the innocent civilians, and the monster found him again, tore away his disguise and freed him.

"They fought, as they always did, and left burning wreckage in their wake, until the _evil_ monster decided she would rather be friends again. So she tried, and tried, and tried to be _good,_ but she could never quite live up to the other monster's little rules. But she was a fool, and hadn't figured that out yet. She even showed the monster where the rest of their people had hidden from the war, absolving him of all that _guilt,_ and it wasn't enough."

He takes a deep breath, as if steadying himself, and Theta sees tears shining in his eyes. Just as quick, the vulnerability is gone and covered by the guise of showmanship.

"And then, one day, after the good monster gave up on him and he was still trying to understand why, the evil monster went looking through the history books of their home, and found something odd. Would you like to guess what he found?"

All she can do is shake her head mutely. The story _feels_ familiar, clinging to the edges of her mind, but it's not enough for her to guess.

"No?" O grins. "You'll like this bit. It turns out, the other monster wasn't a monster at all, but a _god._ Older and more powerful than everything else, their true identity hidden from them by the people who used and exploited them for power. The monster became furious. His history was a lie, the only creature he thought his equal was so far above him…

"So he destroyed what remained of his home, and went to find the god, to tell them the truth so that they could put an end to all of it. It would be a mercy, after all the death the two of them had brought, after all the pain the god had suffered through before that. But the god was too much of a coward to kill them, and hid away from the world, away from their real life."

He pauses, and Theta waits with bated breath for him to continue. Instead, he stays silent, until the unfinished threads of the story wrap like a noose around her throat and she finally speaks, desperate for an answer.

"What happens next?"

"Well, that's up to you," he replies, with a strange look in his eyes. "Should they die, should they live?"

"They're monsters," she says softly. "Killers. But they've both tried to be better, haven't they?"

O tilts his head. "And you think that makes all that death acceptable?"

"I-" Theta stops. "I don't know. I don't know what answer you want, I don't know why you're even asking me."

"Just looking for an end to the story, love," he says.

They both know it's more than that. It _can't_ just be a story, not with the emotion he'd told it with, not with the way it makes Theta's heart twist in fear and bitter nostalgia. There's something important about it, something _real,_ and if she could just figure out why it is, then maybe she could make the right choice. If there even is one.

"Which one are you?" she asks, not because she doesn't think she knows, but to see how he'll respond.

O almost smiles, sadness pulling at the corners of his mouth, before shaking his head. "Answer the question, Theta."

She doesn't want to. She doesn't know what either answer will entail, and the uncertainty terrifies her almost as much as the way O is acting.

"They should live. They should keep trying to be better."

"Even though they'll cause more death?" O looks resigned at her answer, shoulders slumping. "Is that really the choice you want to make?"

"I don't know!" Theta snaps, standing up from the chair. "I don't want to- to kill you, and I don't want you to kill anyone, and I don't know how the other _monster_ fits in to this but I can't just condemn them, either! Maybe the god should stop hiding, and maybe they should help each other be better without killing anyone! Maybe that's how this story should end."

He seems shocked at that, blinking in surprise. "Is that what you choose, then?"

"Yes, fine, that's what I choose!" She's nearly nose to nose with him when she says it. "Nobody else needs to die. There can be a happy ending."

"Oh, love," he sighs, shaking his head. "There never is. But I applaud your optimism."

One hand goes to his pocket, and he pulls out a small golden heart on a delicate chain. The locket swings slightly as it dangles, the chain looped over his finger.

"You kept it?" Theta breathes. Then she feels like a fool for asking; of course he kept it. She kept his jacket, and that silly little model of a plane, and she remains the less obsessive one out of the two of them.

O's unoccupied hand takes one of hers, uncurling her fingers with a gentle touch of his own, and drops the locket into her palm. The metal is cool against her skin, heavier than it really is with the weight of whatever importance O has assigned it in this bizarre tale.

"Open it," he says.

"It's broken," she points out. "The latch doesn't work right."

" _Open it._ "

Theta makes a placating gesture and begins trying to pry the locket open. Digging her fingernails, one from each hand, into the furrow between the two halves and pulling doesn't yield much of a result. She's about to try something else when the locket suddenly _gives,_ and the two halves fall open.

For a moment, nothing happens, and out of the corner of her eye she sees O crumple. Then she looks down, properly _looks,_ and the rush of golden light hits her without a warning. Theta cries out, trying to fling the locket away, but it's already too late.

Memories flood into her mind, like a dam has suddenly broken inside of her. It burns, it _burns,_ tearing her every cell apart and rewriting them, filling her up with so many memories that she can't even _think_ around them all. Like her lucid, baffling dreams, they're disjointed and confusing, but now she can connect them all, put them together like the puzzle pieces they are.

She remembers O, and she remembers who he truly is, and she remembers every second of that aching, painful history. Every fight, every argument, every rescue from a backfired plan, every death, every yearning touch. Of course he'd felt familiar when she'd first seen him, of course she'd felt _drawn_ to him; when had she ever been anything but?

Except the answer to that question is the very root of all of this. She's ancient, and she feels it in the exhaustion in her bones, the way each and every century weighs on her chest like a physical thing. And while he may be _old,_ he hasn't lived more than a small fraction of her lifespan, and he can't _bear_ that. Neither could she, in the end; after all, she hid as a human for a reason.

The Doctor opens her eyes to meet the Master's. He's staring at her, somewhere between awestruck and terrified. There's a long, tense moment where neither of them say anything.

"You should have told her what would happen," she finally says, voice cold with carefully reigned in anger. "She deserved to at least say goodbye to her family."

"She wasn't _real,_ " he retorts. "None of it was real."

The Doctor frowns. "It was real for her. And she did love you. Or at least, the part of you that you let her remember. That was cruel, even for you."

"You have no room to judge me," he snarls. "After everything you've done-"

"I know." Above everything else — the anger, the residual fear and confusion and desperate love from Theta's last moments — she is so very tired. "I know."

They lapse into silence again. The Master breaks it, eventually, with a question.

"Do you think she was right?"

"I think she made the best choice she could, given the circumstances," the Doctor says shortly.

He laughs at that, sharp and brittle. "Don't want to help me be better, love?"

"Stop it."

"Oh, but _Doctor,_ what about a happy ending?" he simpers.

"I said to _stop it,_ " she snaps. "She said that while hopelessly in love with you and praying that you wouldn't kill her or yourself in a fit of mania."

That, at least, manages to shut him up for a moment, eyes going dark at the rather pointed comment.

She inhales through her nose, holds the breath for a moment, and then lets it out in a sigh. "But I don't think she was… completely wrong. This isn't- we can't go on like this."

"So end it," the Master says, far too quick and distressingly eager.

"I'm not going to kill you," the Doctor replies. The part of her that's still full of messy, lingering humanity recoils at the mere thought; even the idea of leaving him makes that bit writhe uncomfortably. "I- You proved that you could be better, with her. You _tried_ for her. Why can't you do that again?"

"You know _exactly_ why," he hisses. "If you're not going to stop this, then leave."

She almost presses, almost prods at the gaping wounds in his mental state that she's solely responsible for, one way or another. Instead, she listens, turning to leave. She has a TARDIS to find, and four humans to take care of, somehow. He's silent as she goes, like he hadn't quite expected her to actually do it. When she reaches the doors that lead back into the corridor, the Doctor pauses.

"Whenever you're ready to-" she starts.

"I'll find you," he promises.

It's as close to a truce as the two of them are ever likely to reach, now. The Doctor nods, steps out into the hall, and closes the door. When they're ready, they can open it again, and maybe write the proper ending neither of them truly deserve.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, leave a kudos or a comment!


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